i like me better when i'm with you (reupload)
by larajeancovey
Summary: Lara Jean and Peter throughout the years
1. Goodbye

**August 2018**

Peter and I say goodbye the day I leave for North Carolina. He'd dropped me off at home around two in the morning – Daddy had eased up on my curfew now that I was no longer in high school – but it still feels like I haven't seen him in forever when his car pulls up at the front of my driveway.

We're all outside, loading last minute things into my car. Unlike Margot, who'd brought only her most frequently worn items of clothing and other practical things like bedsheets and shower shoes, I've managed to fit almost half the contents of my room and closet into seven cardboard boxes. Sparkly hair ties, my romance novel collection, my hot glue gun, skirts, sweaters, t-shirts, jeans, one dress, two pairs of boots, my bright red Converse, and forty-five paper notes from the boy I love. I've kept them in Mommy's teal hatbox, occupying the place that had started it all. I've placed the box carefully on the passenger's seat.

I've just loaded the last box into the car when I see him – Peter, standing at the edge of my lawn, staring at me. His expression is blurry, his hands shoved into the pockets of his UVA sweatshirt. I realize why he's slightly disfigured in my vision when I feel hot tears on my cheeks.

Great. I'm already crying.

Almost instantly, there are warm hands on my shoulders, pulling me into a strong chest. I smell Tide laundry detergent and Peter. "Don't cry, Lara Jean," he says quietly, but his voice is rough. When I look up at him, he looks like he's fighting tears as well. I ball up his sweatshirt in my fists and tug him closer, like I'm trying to fit myself inside him. I wish I could. That way, he could take me everywhere with him and we'd never have to be apart.

But I know that that is a silly thought. We're both officially adults now and the real world is waiting. He has to go to UVA and I have to go to Chapel Hill. We both have to find out who we are and what we want to do with our lives. We have to grow up. Hopefully, that doesn't mean we have to outgrow each other.

No matter what, I think fiercely, starting up at Peter through a sheen of tears, I never want to let him go. Even if we break up, I want him to stay in my life forever. I don't think I could survive it being any other way. He's a part of me now, and I think losing him would be like severing a limb. Maybe one day I could get used to it, but it would never fully stop hurting.

"Hey," he says into my hair, "Stop thinking so hard."

"I'm going to miss you so much," I say, breathing him in one last time and stepping back. In my peripheral vision, I can see Daddy and Kitty have returned to the house, probably to give us privacy for this moment.

"I know," he pushes my hair behind my ear. I've started wearing it down more and more since we've been together. "Me too." "But," he lifts my chin, "I also know that if anyone can do this long-distance thing, it's you and me, Covey. We've found our way back to each other again and again. We don't break easy."

_God_, I think as he pulls away and laces our hands together, leading me away so he can examine "how much junk I've managed to cram into one car," _please let him be right. _


	2. Jealousy

**October 2018**

I go to my first college party the weekend before Halloween – against my will. In high school, I went to parties for Peter and later for his friends when they became my own. The thought of facing that scene without him terrifies me in a way. But my roommate Harper is insistent.

Harper was my first friend – and the first person I met – at Chapel Hill. She's studying journalism, goes swimming every morning, and wears fuzzy socks nearly all times of the day. When I walked into the dorm and met her for the first time, she was wearing red ones with a cute little cat on the bottom. That's how I knew I would like her.

Now, I watch her dig through my drawers for a suitable outfit for the party. For being on October 26th, the party is oddly not Halloween-themed. I'd tried to get away with going in the skinny jeans and cream sweater with a ballerina on the front I have on, but Harper had given a firm "no" to that. As she digs through the tops that Margot had so carefully folded, I study her own outfit.

The short dress and Ugg boots look great on her leggy swimmer's body but I know immediately that they're not my thing. For a second, I fear that she's going to force me into a similar outfit, but then I relax. We only met a few weeks ago, but for some reason, I feel like Harper knows me better than that. We get each other in a way that Chris and I used to, and that makes me feel both happy and sad. Happy that I've found someone. Sad that it feels like I'm replacing Chris. For the first time in a while, I wonder about her. Is she okay? Is she happy? Has she found a replacement Lara Jean?

"Here," while I've been lost inside my head, Harper has made her pick, "Try this on."

Dubiously, I take the clothes from her and strip. Only a month and a half in, but we're already comfortable enough to do this in front of each other. Limited bathroom time kind of made the alternative impossible. By now, I've stopped feeling self-conscious that my 30B breasts are tiny compared to her D-cups. Everyone has a different body type.

Harper has picked my burgundy skirt with faux-buttons up the front and a tight black top that I think might actually be Kitty's. It has elbow-sleeves and a boatneck collar but only skims my belly button. I study my reflection in the mirror. I've never shown stomach in public before.

"Fine," I say, "But I'm wearing tights underneath."

Twenty minutes later, we're crossing campus to get to the fraternity house where the party is being held. We'd compromised on the tights – I'm wearing a pair of her pantyhose instead, which have a run down the back of one leg and do nothing to protect me against the chilly wind that billows through the trees. I shiver, praying the frat house comes quick.

When we get there, Harper ushers me past the drunken guys cloistered on the front porch and into the house. "Have fun tonight, LJ," she says into my ear, her breath warm, before I lose her amidst the crowd. Someone shoves a red Solo cup into my hand, which I dump out immediately before getting my own beer. I've heard enough college roofie stories, thank you very much.

I find Emma, a girl from my biology class who I'm friendly with and strike up a conversation about her Halloween plans. Her boyfriend goes to UNC also, I learn, and they're going as Romeo and Juliet. Instantly, my heart pangs as I think about Peter. We'd texted earlier that day; he's also at a party tonight. But, unlike me, this is not his first. His lacrosse buddies drag him out almost every weekend, but he doesn't drink or do drugs to keep in shape. He doesn't hook up either, because, well, obviously.

Thinking about Peter at another party a hundred miles away makes me feel sad. And not because I think he's cheating on me or into someone else, but because here is this girl, just like me except for the fact that her boyfriend is here, getting her a drink, carrying her jacket, wearing a matching Halloween costume.

That was supposed to be me and Peter, I think, and then down my drink.

Two hours later, I am no longer the girl who was going to spend Friday night studying for her biology quiz or the girl who is sad thinking about her boyfriend. I am the girl who, against all odds, is having the time of her life for the first time since leaving home.

I've had around three more beers, plus a few sips from Emma's magic flask. Her boyfriend had returned with a buddy and I'd teamed up with Emma against them in two rounds of beer pong. I'd also found Harper again and the two of us had somehow been pulled into a game of Never Have I Ever in one of the bedrooms which had, inadvertently, led to more drinking. I've been buzzed before, tipsy many times, but never like this. I'm a stumbling mess when Harper leads me back into our room and unceremoniously drops me on the bed before announcing she's going the bathroom to wash off her makeup.

I check my phone, it's nearly two in the morning. Before I even know what I'm doing, I've pulled out my laptop and FaceTimed Peter. We do this every night before bed, unless he goes to a party, in which case I've crashed hours before he even gets home. But tonight, I'm wide awake as well.

He answers quickly, looking anxious. He's sitting in his dorm room, wearing a UNC t-shirt (I feel a stab of affection) and pajama pants. "Lara Jean, what's wrong-," he starts, before breaking off as he takes in the way I look. I try and picture myself through his eyes: half-curled hair, smeared makeup, a strip of stomach on display, skirt riding up my thighs, a hole in the pantyhose just below the hem.

"Woah," his eyes widen, "You look hot."

Despite myself, I giggle. "No, I look like a mess."

There's a laugh in his voice – and something else, "A hot mess, then. Did you go out tonight?"

"Mhmmm," I breathe noncommittally, "My very first college party. My very first party without _you_. Can you believe it?"

"I knew you had an inner party girl hidden somewhere, Covey," he says with a chuckle, then runs a hand through his hair, "So, how was it?"

"Good," I say sleepily, lying back against the pillows, "Harper and I got dragged into a dumb game that actually turned out fun. I talked to some people. Oh, Julian showed me how to play beer pong."

"Julian, huh?" The something else is back in his voice, "You've never mentioned him before."

"He's," yawn, "Nice." Yawn. "In my bio class." Yawn.

"Cool," Peter says gruffly, "So, do you hang out with him a lot?"

Suddenly, I recognize the something else. It's jealousy. A thought occurs to me then. All this time, I've been worried about how much attention Peter will attract from girls at college, and how insecure and scared it'll make me feel. I never realized that the reverse could also be true.

"He's dating my friend." I peer at him, "You know you don't have to worry, right? I only want you, Peter Kavinsky. You're my one and only."

He's smiling now, his eyes soft. "Right back at you, Covey."


	3. Thanksgiving

**November 2018 **

Warning(s): References to sex. Spoilers for the third book.

I've never thought about what kind of underwear to pack before. But now, suddenly, I am. It's the day before Thanksgiving break starts and Harper has already left for home, but I'm still here, packing my suitcase, waiting for Peter.

I stare at the underwear laid out in front of me. Nine bras and over twenty pairs of panties. I count the days on my fingers. According to my calculations, I will need at least seven pairs of underwear and around three bras – four if we want to be cautious. But, I think, biting my lip nervously, I can't let Peter see me in the same bra a few days in a row. He'll think I'm gross. Is it gross to wear the same bra continuously? I mean, I change my underwear every day, why not the bra too? What is the standard amount of time you should wear a bra before switching to a new one?

Ugh, I run a hand through my hair in frustration. I can't believe I'm making this complicated. With two Thanksgiving meals to attend – one at my house, one at his – Kitty to indulge, Margot to catch up with, and Peter surely wanting some solo family time and at least a few hang-outs with his high school lacrosse buddies, we probably won't get a lot of time for him to see me in my underwear anyway.

I think this with a twinge of disappointment.

I pick up the bras first, since there's fewer. I choose my favorite one first: a frayed mocha colored one I've had since at least the ninth grade. Next, I pick a pale pink one that's covered in sheer satin and then a plain red one that Chris said gives me amazing cleavage. Lastly, I select the lacy, dark purple one Harper bought me last month. I told her three months was a pretty short amount of time to have known each other for her to be buying me underwear, but she just laughed. Secretly, I was glad that she got me them. I've never bought sexy underwear before – the closest I have to the things Harper bought is a set that Margot accidentally got in the wrong size and passed down to me instead.

Underwear is a slightly more difficult task, since I have to match them at least a little bit to the bras I've picked out. I'm a little stressed that I won't remember to coordinate when I get dressed in the morning, but hopefully it will come to me. I pluck all the period underwear out swiftly and shove it back into the drawer. None of that will do.

After considering my choices with the utmost care, I come up with this: four pairs of standard cotton boy briefs – one mocha, two red, one white – a pink satin, a lacy lilac, and the one that matches the dark purple bra.

My underwear is not a big deal to Peter. I lost my virginity in a bra I'd owned for three years and fruit of the loom panties and he did not seem to mind one bit. But I want to do this – not just for him, but for me. Peter made me feel amazing and so comfortable the first – and only – time we had sex, but I think the sexy underwear would help me feel better about myself too.

After all, it's easy to feel bad when I think about who Peter has been with before me. Genevieve, who could be a model with her long blonde hair and big blue eyes and somehow curvy yet still thin figure. Jamila, with the prettiest hair I've ever seen and flawless skin and long legs. I can imagine what people think when they see us together – it's what they used to say out loud when we first got together.

Why would _he _go out with someone like _her_?

A knock on my door brings me out of my internal pity party. Zipping my suitcase closed, I hurry to open it, expecting to see someone looking for Harper or Emma, who mentioned stopping by.

Instead, Peter stands in my doorway.

Without thinking, I launch myself into his arms. He catches me easily as I wrap my legs around his waist, breathing him in. He smells like lacrosse practice – kind of grassy, a little sweaty, and very Peter. "What are you doing here?" I shriek, "I didn't expect you until tonight."

He's still holding me when I pull back to say this, his hands on my back supporting me. "I got out early from lacrosse practice and came straight up to surprise you," he says, and then smiles before kissing me. God, it's been too long since I've kissed Peter Kavinsky. I run my hands through his hair and bring him closer, his tongue slipping into my mouth as I sigh against his lips. Then, I realize that we're standing in plain sight of anyone walking down the hallway, fully making out.

Sighing, I pull back and rest my hands on his shoulders, signaling he should drop me. Instead, he carries me inside, kicking the door closed with his foot, and sets me on the bed like I weigh nothing. To be fair, he has muscled up a bit. He's still nice and lean – not the stocky kind of muscle I hate, but the kind where his arms are strong and hard without being beefy.

"I can feel you checking me out," he says with a grin, then winks, "Like what you see?"

"Mmhm," I say, and then pull him close again. With our height difference, this results in him falling so he's practically on top of me. We're face to face now, and I say, "I missed you."

He nuzzles my neck in the way he likes to do, "I missed you too, Covey, especially at the beginning. I wanted to jump in my car and drive up here every day after classes."

"Me too," I say, and then admit, "I considered switching to UVA next semester back in September because I hated being away from you so much."

"Yeah?" he says, his voice soft. It would be so much easier for our relationship, but I think we both know in our hearts that this school is where I belong.

"Yeah," I say, threading our fingers together, "But then it got easier when classes really started going and I made friends." I look up at him, this beautiful boy who is all mine, "I think we can do this, Peter."

He smiles down at me brilliantly, "That's what I've been saying all along, Covey."

xxx

I found out that Peter's been up since six for classes and then practice and then the three hour drive up here, so I made him agree to rest before starting the trip back. He pulled me onto his chest, of course, which resulted in me also falling asleep. When we woke up, it was already six p.m. and then we had to hustle to get our things into Peter's car, so we wouldn't get in too late. Peter felt guilty, I think, because his mom said she wanted to see him when he got home, but Mrs. Kavinsky goes to sleep early. I tried to apologize, but he shushed me, saying that he saw his mother every weekend, but he hadn't seen me in nearly three months.

Now, we're entering the exit for Charlottesville off the highway. I offered to drive, but Peter knows that long drives make me uncomfortable (especially at night) so he's been steady at the wheel. When we hit a bad patch of traffic, he decided there was no way he'd be able to see his mom before she went to bed tonight, and we stopped at a California Pizza kitchen for dinner. I'm full on BBQ chicken pizza and the feeling of being in the car with the person I love most in the world outside of my dad and sisters.

We're listening to the radio, some old station I turned it to when there were too many commercial breaks on the other ones. Backstreet Boys comes on and I can see Peter start to smile before he sings,

"I want it that way…"

Giggling, I join in and together, we belt out the rest of the song. By the time the station has switched to Nickelback, we're turning onto my street. I can feel my hands tingling at the thought of being in my old room and seeing Kitty and Daddy and Trina again. That's what I miss most about living at home I think: listening to everyone else around me. Daddy watching a documentary in the living room, Kitty running some sort of experiment in her room, Trina playing with Simone in the yard. Even just the regular things, like someone turning on the shower in the morning or putting the coffee on downstairs. Little reminders of the people you love all around you.

"Excited?" Peter asks, even though he already knows the answer.

"You have no idea," I hum, and then look at him, "It's no fair that you see more of my family than I do."

For the three months I've been away, Peter's been over at least once a week. He sometimes even eats with my family. It makes me all happy inside that he does this even without me here, but also bittersweet, because I won't be the only one who gets hurt if anything goes wrong for us.

He laughs, "Consider yourself lucky, Covey. I'm basically Kitty's private chauffer now."

A few minutes later, we're pulling up in my driveway. I get out first and open the trunk, picking up my bag. Peter comes in with me, but I'm not sure how long he'll stay since he has to get home too.

"Lara Jean!" Kitty shrieks from the top of the stairs as soon as we enter. She hugs me tightly around the middle and I swear, I could almost cry from how much I've missed her. She's still the same old reed thin eleven-year-old she was when I left, and it makes me happy how little she's changed. I wish she could stay like this forever.

While Kitty chatters away, asking a million questions, my dad and Trina come out. They both hug me, Daddy blinking back tears. Both Peter and I are slowly sheparded into the kitchen and Trina gets out plates, even though I try to explain that we've already eaten, and that Peter has to go soon.

An hour and a half later, I am stuffed to the brim with a blueberry pie that Trina's sister baked, and Peter and Kitty are in similar food comas on either side of me. I'm surprised he's still here – it's after midnight now, but he doesn't seem to want to go anywhere. Suddenly, I get it. It's the soft, but almost scared way he's been looking at me since we stepped through the door. Like he can't believe I'm really here with him, in this house we spent so much time in during high school, eating blueberry pie in the kitchen and telling Daddy about Harper and Emma.

"Hey," I whisper to him in a voice low enough that Kitty can't overhear, "You know I'm really here, right? I won't disappear if you let me go."

"I know," he says, his voice vulnerable. I hear what he doesn't say: _I'm scared that this isn't real. _

I get it. You spend all your time longing for something, and when it finally comes, you're overjoyed of course, but also a little in shock and a little scared because you can't believe that it's finally here and you think it's going to be taken away from you somehow.

"I'm not going anywhere, Peter Kavinsky," I say, squeezing his hand.

xxx

Trina can't cook to save her life, so Kitty and I are in charge of meal prep.

We go to the supermarket as soon as we wake up and pile our cart high with everything we need. Green beans, broccoli, those fried onion things, cream of mushroom soup, potatoes, cranberries, and gravy mix. Daddy already picked up a turkey and is cleaning it out as we shop. He and Trina will then leave to go pick up Grandma while Kitty and I cook.

Peter is scheduled to be here at five sharp, so he can help me set the table all nice. I probably won't hear from much today since he has to help his mom cook. When we texted this morning, he said she was kind of pissy about him coming in so late last night, so I'll try especially hard to leave Peter be today and not rock the boat any further. I have to see her tonight, anyway, and I already know it's going to be awful. It's the first time we'll be face to face since that conversation that led me to break up with Peter.

Kitty and I arrive back home a little after Daddy and Trina leave, at least according to the note on the kitchen counter. I set her to work right away peeling potatoes as I tackle the turkey. I'm halfway through reading the recipe when the doorbell rings. Kitty is off searching for a Band-Aid for a tiny nick she got while cutting the potatoes, so I answer it, still wearing my apron.

To my surprise, Josh is standing in the doorway. It's odd – I haven't spoken to him at all since he left for college a little over a year ago. Peter has; they both go to UVA and he ran into him once in the dining hall. He looks a little different, but mostly the same: thin, shaggy-haired and clad in a Lord of the Rings t-shirt.

"Hey," I say, hoping that there's no intonation of surprise in my voice.

"Hey," he parrots back, slightly awkwardly, "My mom wanted me to drop off a pie." I look at the foil-covered dish in his hands before taking it with a quiet, "Tell her I said thanks."

From what Daddy has said of their email exchanges, Josh's parents had split up over the summer. His Mom is now living in their old house with her new boyfriend. I glance away from him, wondering if I should mention anything.

Fortunately, he saves me by asking about UNC. The awkwardness dissolves as we chat about the campus and I ask about his major – computer science, in case you were wondering – until he brings up Peter. "I see Kavinsky around UVA sometimes, I think he even said hello once." He looks at me all sympathetic, "I hope the breakup wasn't too bad."

"Actually," I say brightly, "We're still together. We're trying the long-distance thing."

Suddenly, it isn't so light-hearted and familiar anymore. I can tell we're both thinking about how Margot didn't want to try with him and about how she always said not to go to college with a boyfriend. About how he got left behind but, somehow, Peter hasn't.

When I abruptly say goodbye and close the door, I can tell we're both relieved.

Kitty, who apparently overhead most of the exchange, gives me wide eyes all throughout the rest of the cooking – but I pretend I don't see. I dismiss her about an hour before Peter is supposed to come over to go make placemats. Daddy and Trina texted to say they're running late and all my dishes are either cooked and covered in foil or in the oven. I decide to take advantage of my unexpected alone time by changing into my outfit for tonight and doing my makeup.

I've upgraded my style slightly now that I'm in college. It's not too different, just older, more sophisticated, I guess. I already know what I'm going to wear: a pretty cotton white top with ruffles and a high neckline, skinny jeans, and my over-the-knee brown boots. I braid my hair to the side, letting a few strands fall in my face. For the makeup, I follow my old party routine from high school: moisturizer, some concealer, thin eyeliner, a dusting of blush, mascara, and a lip. For today, I chose a dark red color that pops against my white shirt and pale skin.

When I'm ready, I walk back downstairs and check on Kitty. She's still hard at work, so I make sure everything's cooking properly before straightening up the living room. Trina isn't messy per se, but she does have trouble remembering to stack the magazines after she's done reading them and carrying mugs back into the kitchen.

I've just rinsed the tea out of the last cup when I hear the doorbell ring. This time, when I swing it open, Peter is the one standing there. He's wearing a dark blue button down that his mom probably pressed for him and equally wrinkle-free khakis. I'm reminded for the millionth time of Peter's timeless sort of handsomeness – he takes my breath away today in 2018, but he also would have attracted major ladies' attention during World War II.

His green eyes widen as he looks me over, and I blush slightly. "You look amazing," he says in an awed sort of voice. I lean forward and kiss him in response and some of my fresh lipstick is on his mouth when he pulls back. I use my thumb to swipe it off, but that just makes him lean in and press his lips to mine again. We're still kissing when Kitty rounds the corner and lets out a shriek.

"You guys never used to show so much PDA," she grumbles, but accepts Peter's fist bump.

xxx

It's eight p.m. and we're on our way to Peter's house. He has one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on my leg. He keeps glancing over at me, and I get the feeling that he still completely hasn't accepted that I'm here in the flesh.

I'm too busy worrying about Peter's mom hating me to make conversation. The radio is playing a Shawn Mendes song softly so we're not sitting in silence, but I can tell Peter wants to say something. Sure enough, when we get there, he pulls over and cuts the engine.

"Hey," he says, looking at me, "No matter what my mom says and does, remember that I love you. Nothing is going to change that."

I gulp nervously, looking down at my hands. I've always wanted other people's moms to like me, and the fact that my boyfriend's mother doesn't makes me feel all weird and prickly inside. But I've spent two years trying to develop a relationship with her only to be met by fake niceness and sometimes outward hostility. I'm done trying to get her to like me.

Peter keeps his hand on the small of my back as we walk over to the porch and ring the doorbell. He smells like the cologne I bought him last Christmas. Mrs. Kavinsky opens it after a few minutes, and I can practically see her bright grin become forced as she takes in me standing at her son's side.

"Hello, Lara Jean," she says pleasantly, "It's good to see you again. How was dinner at your house?"

I wonder if she's mad that we went there first. After all, I've already eaten turkey, two helping of mashed potatoes, and a spoonful of green bean casserole. And that's only half of what Peter had. Right now, I'll only be able to manage a little food, not another full meal.

"Great," I say, hanging up my coat, "Kitty and I cooked."

"How nice," she croons, before taking Peter's arm and leading him into the dining room area. I notice a white pea coat already hanging next to mine and wonder – does 13-year-old Owen have a girl over or something?

My question is quickly answered as I step into the dining room. Genevieve is sitting across from Peter's mom, next to a now very panicked and confused looking Peter. I gape for a moment, "What are you doing here?" It's rude, but I'm still remembering the last conversation we had. _I hope he stays as devoted to you as he is today. But knowing him, I seriously doubt it_.

Swallowing down the sudden insecurity, I smile, "I mean, Peter didn't mention you were coming."

"That's because I didn't know," he glares at his mother, slightly accusatorial, "Seriously, Gen, what are you doing here?"

"I invited her," Mrs. Kavinsky says quickly, giving Peter a classic _quit being rude_ look, "Her mother is out of town and her father isn't an option. I didn't want her to be alone on a holiday that's supposed to be all about family. You don't mind do you, Lara Jean?"

She glances at me with a thin smile, and I know she's waiting for me to say something mean and petty and reveal myself to be exactly the kind of villainous person she thinks I am. I suddenly feel very, very tired. I could handle these mind games and tests when they were coming from mean girls like Gen, but this is my boyfriend's forty-something year old mother. Why doesn't she just come out and say she doesn't want me dating her son? Why does she have to pretend with me? Why does she have to act like everything's okay when she talks to Peter?

"No," I say quietly, slipping into a seat next to an uncomfortable-looking Owen, "Of course I don't."

xxx

When Peter's mom announces that there's pie and ice cream for desert, Owen and I exchange equally glum looks. The poor kid wants to be upstairs in his room with his videogames. I want to be literally anywhere else.

So far, the meal has been excruciatingly awkward. When I helped myself to only a small helping of food, Genevieve looked over at me and clucked, "Are you trying to lose weight, Lara Jean? That's totally understandable, freshman fifteen can be _such_ a bitch."

And even though I know that I've actually lost a few pounds instead of gaining them since starting college, I immediately felt like throwing my entire plate away. Peter was too far away to do anything but give me a reassuring smile, but I felt his foot bump against mine under the table. That's the only reason I was able to breathe and smile without snapping back something rude.

Mrs. Kavinsky spent a while asking Gen questions about how college life is going at Tech. I find out that she's single – and don't miss the way Peter's mom leaps on that particular bit of information like she's a spider whose web has caught a particularly juicy meal. Does it bother me that Mrs. Kavinsky clearly likes Gen better than me?

Who am I kidding, hell yes.

I stew over this for the rest of dinner, and Peter can clearly tell I'm bothered. He tries multiple times to engage me in the conversation and end the awful meal altogether, but it just drags on. So, when Mrs. Kavinsky says she's going to run to the kitchen to get the ice cream out of the freezer, he leaps to his feet and says, "Actually, Mom, we'd better get going."

"Oh," she freezes, "Well you just have to drop Lara Jean off, right? We can hold off on the ice cream until you get back."

"Um," Peter flushes and looks at me, which makes me go about as red as the lipstick I put on earlier.

Dad and Trina went to go drop off Grandma after dinner, taking Kitty with them. They're spending the night at Trina's older sister's house because it's on the way back and apparently, they never get to see each other. Dad tried to invite me along, but Trina cut him off quickly, winking at me behind his back.

And although we haven't voiced it out loud, there is an unofficial agreement that we'll go back to my house after this and Peter will come upstairs and spend the night for the second time ever. I'm wearing the lacy dark purple underwear set as a precaution. Nothing has to happen tonight, but I want it to. I want to feel close to Peter. And, as much as I dislike Gen, I almost want to thank her for making Peter so experienced in that department. I've certainly reaped the benefits.

"I probably won't be back until tomorrow morning," Peter says finally, and everyone freezes up. Mrs. Kavinsky falters slightly before smiling fakely and saying, "Alrighty, then. Ice cream now it is."

She walks us out and gives me a Tupperware of leftovers. She even hugs me – most likely for Peter's benefit – after I've slipped back into my coat. I inhale her rose perfume and pretend for a fleeting second that this is real, that I actually have a close relationship with the mother of the boy I want to spend forever with.

But then the moment is over, and reality comes crashing back.

xxx

"Your hair smells like coconuts," Peter says when we're lying on my bed a half hour later. We're both still in our dinner clothes with our shoes kicked off and my head is on his chest. His arm is wrapped around me.

I smile, thinking back to seventh grade and John Ambrose McClaren's basement. "Not much of a preamble to a first kiss," I grumble, but I hug him more tightly. I feel his grin against the top of my head.

"I was so nervous," he says with a short laugh, "I thought you were the prettiest girl I'd ever seen." His voice is soft and raspy at the same time, "I still do."

My heart warms. Yet, at the same time, I think of what Gen said today. I burrow into his chest, "Do you think I need to lose weight?"

It's such a stupid question that I regret it instantly. Peter tenses but keeps stroking my back comfortingly. "I hate that Gen made that comment. It was so mean."

He moves then, so I'm suddenly flat on the bed and he is propped up above me. "And to answer your question, no, I don't. You're perfect just the way you are." He touches my cheek, "I mean it. You're beautiful, Covey."

I like how says it. Not you _look _beautiful, but you_ are_.

I kiss him then, swallowing whatever he was going to say next. We kiss and kiss and kiss until we are just a heated tangle of limbs. His shirt has come off and has been thrown to the edge of the bed, along with my top. "Do you want to," he asks, sounding breathless, and I nod a little too eagerly before pulling his mouth back to mine. He takes his khakis off and then pulls my jeans down my legs so we're both just in our underwear.

He sucks in his breath and goes very, very still when he sees what I have on. His hand ghosts over my bra like he's afraid to touch me. "Did you know," he asks with a weak grin, "That I'm the luckiest guy alive?"

"I love you," I tell him.

And then his hand finally touches me, and we don't talk anymore.


	4. Vacation

**July 2019**

I keep stretching up on my tip toes to look for Peter. Once, I almost fall straight into a little old lady who suddenly appears in front of me.

"Lara Jean," Margot hisses in exasperation, looking as though she's caught between laughing and being embarrassed to be seen with me. I can't help it: this is the first time Peter and I will be away together without parents and curfews and classes looming.

I've been in London for the past week visiting Margot, who's interning at the Royal Archaeological Society. Peter is joining me for my last weekend here. I'm so excited that I've managed to save all the mega-touristy things to do with him. Friday we'll ride the London Eye and see Westminster Abbey, Saturday we'll visit the Tower of London and St. Paul's Cathedral, and Sunday we'll go see Buckingham Palace and then spend some time in Hyde Park before we have to go to the airport to catch our flight back home. Margot is going to stay with Ravi at his parent's house in Birmingham – he's supposed to pick up her up in a few hours – so Peter and I have the flat she's renting all to ourselves. Nineteen-year-old me can scarcely contain her excitement. Sixteen-year-old me would have _died_.

Finally, after what feels like hours, I catch a glimpse of Peter's dark hair and familiar sweatshirt. "Peter!" I nearly screech, and the old lady reaches up to adjust her hearing aid. Oops.

He comes over, smiling his wide, lazy grin, and gives me a hug before kissing me soundly on the lips. He hugs Margot, too, and she asks him how his flight over was. "Long," he says, tugging at his sweatshirt, "I've never been outside the country before."

It's true, he had to get a passport just for this trip. But he said it was worth all the trouble just to have a worry-free weekend with me away from all the drama back home. His lacrosse practice was seriously cutting into our time this summer, Gen had somehow reappeared in our lives, and don't get me started on his mom.

"C'mon, Covey," Peter slugs an arm around my shoulder, "Let's get out of here."

xxx

We wave Margot good-bye from the front of her apartment building. Peter's changed into fresh clothes. I forgot how good the boy looks in a button down. We watch Ravi's car until it's a small dot somewhere down the road before Peter turns to me.

"Just you and me now, kid," he says, and then winks.

"Do you want to go out for dinner?" I ask when we're back upstairs. We're in the living room with the TV on, Peter sprawled on the couch with me sitting with my back against one of the armrests, my feet in his lap. He's playing with my toes. My nail-polish is so chipped and faded that I almost want to move them away.

"Not really," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck, "Can we order in?"

_Thank God, _I think. I'm cozy in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top; the last thing I want to do is get dressed and go out. Especially because there aren't that many places around here and I have only a limited amount of cash to pay a cab driver or buy a Tube ticket.

"I'll grab the menus," I say, and walk into the kitchen to get them out of the drawer where Margot stores them. Peter doesn't like spicy food, so I bypass Thai and Indian, grabbing Italian, Mexican, and Chinese. I hand them to Peter, who starts flipping through them with care. I roll my eyes.

"I already know you're going to pick pizza," I say, and he makes a face at me that tells me I'm right.

"Oh, really?" he asks, a glint in his eye, "You think you've got me all figured out, don't you, Covey?"

"Yup," I say proudly, and then touch his face, "Every thought that goes on up there is immediately broadcast on here. You're an easy read."

"Am I?" he says, looking like he's trying not to smile. "Okay, mind-reader. Tell me what I'm thinking right now."

"Hmm" I tap my chin, thoughtfully. "Obviously, it's 'I have the best girlfriend ever and I should totally let her pick the toppings on the pizza'."

"Nah," he grins widely now, "You're wrong. I was actually thinking: 'Wow, Lara Jean really needs a shower. She smells.'"

With an indignant harrumph, I launch myself at him. He catches me easily, and I fall into his chest. I look down into his green eyes with their golden specks, my gaze hard. "Take it back."

"No," he laughs, clearly enjoying my mock-anger, "It was the truth."

And then my hands are descending to his ribs, where I know he's extremely ticklish, and all thoughts of dinner are forgotten.

xxx

Peter and I took about a thousand pictures today. I'm scrolling through them on his phone as I wait for him to get out the shower. There's us on the London Eye yesterday, me posing in front of Westminster, Peter pretending to be a prisoner in the Tower of London, me eating ice cream in front of Tower Bridge, me after said ice cream has fallen off the cone and onto the front of my top. I wonder if I should delete the pic before Peter decides it would be funny to post on Instagram.

We're not as public of a couple as we used to be when we were fake-dating, but you wouldn't be able to tell that if you looked at Peter's Instagram. Gabe, one of his old lacrosse friends, has referred to the it as the Lara Jean Covey fan page.

I decide to keep the picture and turn to picking out an outfit. It's our last night in London, and I want to look good. All the stuff I brought is too casual, so I turn to Margot's closet. She's more of a practical dresser than me, but I do find a silky black dress that ends about mid-thigh. It would look good with my denim jacket. Let's hope it fits.

As is turns out, it's a little short. But I like it so much I decide a little leg never hurt anyone and move on to hair and makeup. By the time Peter comes out, buttoning up his shirt with his still wet hair dripping over his forehead, I'm ready to go. My heart feels like it's about to burst when I look at him. Peter is very much a Handsome Boy and sometimes it still seems surreal that he is mine.

"Whoa," he says, his eyes slowly tracking up my body, "You look great." I'm wearing little strappy black heels, so he has to bend slightly less than usual when he comes to kiss me. I look at us in the mirror when we separate: him in his dress pants and button down and me in my heels and dress. We look like the adult versions of ourselves, grown up and ready to take on the world together.

I take his arm and let him lead me to the door.

xxx

Around eleven, Peter and I are sharing a chocolate lava cake and laughing over the story of the time Emma's boyfriend professed his love for her in front of her entire psychology class after a fight when there's a sudden exclamation from the table next to us. We look over, alarmed, only to see a woman jump up holding a shiny engagement ring.

"Yes," she cries as she throws her arms around her dinner companion's neck, "Yes, yes, yes."

We watch as he slides the ring onto her finger, both of us smiling. She looks like the happiest person alive. It's nice, watching this kind of love fold out in front of you. I'm still staring dreamily into the night as Peter waves over a waiter and quickly pays the check.

"Peter," I say warningly when I re-enter the real world, "We were supposed to split the bill. This place is crazy expensive."

He shrugs, as charming as ever, "I wanted to treat my girl."

xxx

"I want to marry you." Peter says this suddenly into the darkness of the guest bedroom. I was just about to drift off into sleep but suddenly my every nerve is firing. He must feel my alarm because he laughs. I feel the arm draped over me shake with it. "Not now, Covey, but someday."

I smile, relaxed. I'm so gone for him that I couldn't count on myself to say no if he asked, despite the fact that we're both still technically still teenagers. Daddy would have had a heart attack.

"I want to marry you, too," I say back, snuggling closer. And I do. Even when I try really hard, I can't picture myself with anyone aside from Peter Kavinsky. It just never feels right.

"I'll come up with an epic proposal," he says after a while, just when I think he's fallen asleep. "The boys will help me plan it. Kitty, too. None of that hide-a-ring-in-the-champagne-glass crap that guy pulled today. I'll knock your socks off."

"I don't doubt it," I say, then kiss him. It's the lazy kind of kiss that leads nowhere but is just out of genuine love and affection. "I'll be waiting."

"How old were your parents when they got married?" he asks.

Hmm. I have to think a little. "Young, twenty-four. They dated for four years before." If you count the fake-dating, Peter and I have already been together for almost three. "What about yours?"

Peter doesn't like to talk about his parents' story. From what he's said, it goes something like this: they met young, married too early, had him and Owen, it got ugly, and then his Dad bailed. "Mom was twenty-one. She never even finished college because of him. They were high school sweethearts."

"I think we should wait longer," I say, even though, if he asks nicely enough right now, I'd probably do it today. "Like, twenty-fiveish. I can't imagine being a wife at twenty-one."

"Twenty-five," he says experimentally, "I can do that."

**More fluff in this one, but since we all know long distance relationships are hard, angst is coming. Also, be prepared for a little John Ambrose McClaren in the next one. Reviews are highly appreciated and great motivation ;), and thanks to everyone who followed/reviewed/favorited! **


	5. Complications

**So here's chapter five. To the person who told me not to break them up, I'm really sorry (I wrote this before you reviewed!). Don't worry, it ends up okay :) Disclaimer: I don't own anything; if I did, we would have gotten a wedding flash-forward. **

Warning(s): Language. Spoilers for the second book.

This is how is starts:

I'm scrolling through Instagram outside the building where I have my organic chemistry class, waiting for my professor to show up for office hours. I'm thinking about posting the picture of me and Peter kissing that one of his teammates took when I went to his lacrosse game last weekend, when I hear a voice say, "Lara Jean?"

I look up and see him. John Ambrose McClaren, framed by the afternoon light, looking almost angelic with his golden hair, smiling brown eyes, and perpetually young, clean-shaven face. I should smile and hug him, ask what he's doing here. But I stay rooted to the spot, unable to shake the foreboding feeling that accompanies John Ambrose McClaren approaching me on a sunny September afternoon in the middle of campus wearing a UNC t-shirt and carrying a bookbag.

I can't help but think it's all about to go wrong.

xxx

This is how it ends:

I'm face-down on my pillow trying to hide the tears streaming down my cheeks. Harper has come and go twice from classes – and has offered to bring me notes, food from the dining hall, and a sledgehammer to take out Peter's car – but I haven't been able to move since I hung up the phone last night.

I lift my head from the pillow, feeling light-headed for a moment, and think that I should probably get up. I touch a hand to my face experimentally, and yup, it still comes back wet with tears. I keep telling myself that it's going to be okay, but apparently my tear ducts haven't gotten the message. Maybe it's because the rest of my body knows what my brain keeps denying: that when he hung up, Peter sounded completely done. Like we really are over.

I check my phone. No messages. No missed calls, voicemails, apologetic texts. The only notifications I have are from News, telling me that the unemployment rate has gone up, and from Facebook, informing me that today is Gabe Johnson's birthday and I should let him know I'm thinking about him.

So apparently the rest of the world does still go on after yours ends.

Peter was wrong, I think, remembering his words when we said goodbye before college over two years ago. We broke so easy.

xxx

The middle:

I call Peter after I get home from office hours – I was too muddled in the head from my conversation with John to understand a word of my professor's complex explanation of conformation - but he doesn't pick up. I call two more times, even though I can practically hear Margot in my head: _if he doesn't pick up the first time, Lara Jean, he's probably away from his phone._

The reason I'm in such a hurry to reach him is because John invited me to grab a coffee with him in an hour. Apparently, he's transferring to UNC for his last two years, and since I'm the only person he knows here, he wants me to show him the ropes. I could hardly say no to that without sounding rude, but it feels weird to go out with him alone without at least telling Peter. After all, if he was hanging out with Gen, I would definitely want to know.

Peter isn't an overly jealous guy, and I definitely don't need his approval to hang out with a boy. Yuck. But there's two guys in the entire world who completely rub him the wrong way. One is Josh. The other is John Ambrose McClaren. I think it's because they got their own versions of the love letter that started me and Peter's relationship. If fate had worked out some other way, I could be dating either of them right now. The reminder of that makes the usually over-confident Peter feel insecure.

As the clock ticks closer to five, he still hasn't called me back. Finally, when it's 4:52, I grab my jacket and leave. I keep the ringer on my phone on and turned up to full volume in case Peter magically calls on the ten-minute walk over to the coffee shop, but I've still got nothing when I push open the door. John is already sitting at a table. I check my phone: 5:01 p.m. Peter would have been five minutes late, at least.

"Hey," I say cheerfully, hoping to mask my internal anxiety. John smiles and pulls out a chair for me. We're sitting across the table instead of next to each other, which I'm grateful for. The latter is much more intimate.

As John leaves to go give the barista our orders – a cappuccino and a chocolate scone for me and regular coffee and blueberry muffin for him – I tap out a quick text to Peter:

**Where are you? I have to tell you something. **

I'm sending out my fifth text (just a line of question marks), when John returns with our orders. I smile and accept my drink, mentally cringing at the fact that I let him pay. Not only does it betray my inner feminist, it also makes today feel distinctly more date-ish. I think I would feel better if John and I had left it some other way. We didn't definitively close the chapter on the possibility of a relationship for us. We just left it open for someday later in life when I wasn't with Peter. The weight of that conversation still hangs over us and I wonder if John thinks someday might be today.

I'm trying to think of how to subtly squeeze in that I'm still with Peter when John asks me where I live. As I start to tell him, my unease – and the distinctly guilty feeling in my stomach – evaporates. I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm just helping out an old friend. And with that thought reassuring me, I dive into where the best hangout spots are on campus.

xxx

I get home way later than I planned and ignore Harper wiggling her eyebrows at me from the kitchen. Today confirmed for me more than anything that whatever feelings I once had for John have totally evaporated. There's no room for anyone in my heart except Peter Kavinsky.

Once I've taken off my jacket and Harper has gone into her bedroom with a Hot Pocket for dinner (hey, we _are_ two college students with only a meager source of income between us), I fish out my phone and see that I have a missed call from Peter. Lying on my bed, I hit the call icon next to his name and stare up at the ceiling as I listen to it ring. He answers quickly, his voice gruff, "Hey."

I frown, because he sounds disgruntled and not all that happy to hear from me. Irrationally, I wonder if he already knows about John. "Hey," I say quickly, "How was your day?"

"It fucking sucked," he says bluntly. "I hit my head during practice today and Coach is benching me for the last two games of the season."

"_What_?" I leap off the bed, the news of John quickly forgotten. If Peter had to make a list of the things he cares about the most in the world, it would probably go something like: (1) His family (2) Me (3) Kitty and (4) Lacrosse. Unlike most of the guys who played in high school, for him, lacrosse wasn't just a fun way to pass the time or a means to get into college. He truly loves the game. He lives for it.

"It was barely anything, but he says he wants to be extra-cautious because of my concussion last month." He sounds bitter, and I wince as I hear the sound of what sounds like a fist hitting a wooden table. "This is so shitty. We're never going to qualify for championships if I can't play." This isn't your typical athlete ego complex: Peter is probably the best player on the entire team.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, and although it's sincere, it sounds flat. I wish he was here, so I could give him a hug, or that we were Face Timing, so I could see his face. Not for the first time, I'm frustrated by the difficulties of having a long-distance relationship. "There's still a chance. Have you tried talking to your coach?"

He makes a dismissive sound. "Yeah, after practice, and I'm going to go see him tomorrow. But his mind seems pretty made up. He doesn't want to risk a serious injury."

To be fair, the coach's concerns sound pretty legit. I was so terrified when Peter's roommate texted to say he'd been taken to the hospital for a head injury during pre-season practice last month. Even though I hate driving and had class the next day, I jumped in my car and was there within three hours. I don't want to think about how many speed laws I broke. If I'm being totally honest, Peter being benched makes a little shiver of relief go through me. Since that day in the hospital, I've been having bad dreams where something serious happens to him and I lose him forever. I usually wake up all sweaty and gross with tears running down my cheeks. I have to watch my favorite Korean drama for a bit or call Peter just to calm down. I've never told him what the dreams are about, though; I don't want to get in the way of him doing the thing he loves.

"Hey," he says suddenly, "What was it that you wanted to tell me? I just saw your texts."

"Oh," I twist my comforter between fingertips, wondering if I should pile onto his crappy day. Peter has never had a positive reaction to hearing John's name in the entire time we've been together. "Um, it's not important."

"No," I can hear him frowning, "You called me a bunch of times and left two voicemails. What's up, Lara Jean?" Uh-oh, he's using my first name instead of Covey. He's really in a terrible mood. And I'm about to make it worse.

"Um, I saw John Ambrose McClaren today. He's transferring to UNC."

Radio silence. I can't even hear him breathing. Finally, he says, "Oh." And then, "Did you talk to him?"

"Yeah," I take a deep breath and say, all in a rush, "We had coffee."

Even without seeing his face, I can tell he's frowning now. Quickly, I start making excuses, "I tried to call you before to warn you. And I'm 100% over him. Today was strictly professional so he could learn more about UNC."

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, "I can't do this right now. Not on top of everything at practice."

"Wait," I say before he hangs up, "Are you seriously mad at me? For having coffee with someone?"

"Don't do that," he says, his voice low but furious, "Don't make sound stupid and irrational. The last time you said you and John were 'just friends', we broke up like a week later and then you were running all over town with him."

Suddenly, I'm mad too. "I can't believe you would bring that up, Peter!" My voice is shaking, "Don't you trust me?"

"No," he says and my heart breaks. He sounds so angry. "Not with him. Not given what's happened in the past. How do I know you're not going to ditch me for the Sundance Kid again?"

"Because I love you." I'm almost crying now.

"I mean, come on, Lara Jean. I'm a mess. My mom is on my ass every time I see her, my dad is sniffing around again, and my grades are shit. And now, I don't even have lacrosse – the one thing in my life that I'm actually good it. Compared to John, I've got nothing. Why wouldn't you pick him over me?"

His voice cracks a little at the end, no longer angry. Just defeated. "You know what, maybe you _should _pick McClaren. I, just, I can't deal with trying to maintain a long-distance relationship right now. I need a break."

Suddenly, there's nothing but a dial tone in my ear. He hung up.

xxx

And then, there's after:

I don't blame John for the implosion of my relationship. He was…what's the saying again? The straw that broke the camel's back. The truth is, cracks started appearing in our relationship a few months ago. It started back in June when I told him I was leaving for a month to go to Guatemala with UNC's Global Outreach club. The trip was to provide services and healthcare to the impoverished people living there and was probably one of the most meaningful months of my life, but when I came back, there was a weird distance between me and Peter.

It didn't help that his mom was doing everything she could to keep us apart and his lacrosse practice kept him busy almost all of August. We only got to spend time together in the middle, and even then, one phone call from his dad kept him all agitated and closed-off until I went back to school. The injury just made it worse, with him trying even harder to prove himself and me secretly scared to death of losing him but also afraid to share my worries with him.

But I didn't know about the grades. I don't know why he wouldn't tell me he's struggling. He's pre-law and majoring in political science, but he has to take a few history classes. I used to help him study for social studies back in high school. I could have done the same now, if he would have just told me.

I wait a week for Peter to call, but he is virtually silent. The day he removes my name from his Instagram bio, I'm a sobbing mess when Harper comes back to the apartment. She takes out a carton of Rocky Road she'd shoved into the back of the freezer – for emergencies, she says – and hands me a spoon. I blurt out everything I'm feeling to her and then afterwards, we watch 80's rom coms until I fall asleep.

Kitty gets word somehow and calls me about twenty times until I explain what happened to her and Margot over a three-way video call. I'd been too depressed to tell them before. My future, which had seemed so certain when I had Peter, is now a dark and confusing mess.

John asks me out eight days after me and Peter end. I say no quickly, but it reminds me of what Peter said on the phone call and I want to start crying again. John looks at my face, something clearing in his eyes as he says, ruefully, "Goddamn Kavinsky. He did it again."

On October 7th, we have our last day of classes for almost a week. I'm going home for the weekend and for the first time in the ten days that have passed since the breakup, I feel happy. But then, I'm suddenly hit with the reminder that I won't be seeing Peter this break and I pack my bags with considerably less vigor.

xxx

After dinner my first night back, I go up to my room and take out Mommy's hatbox. It's stuffed nearly to the brim with not only the notes from when Peter and I were fake-dating, but also the weekly letters he sent me the first two years of college before suddenly, we stopped the tradition. I had just chalked it up to being busy.

I smile as I read the little high school notes, some of which are as basic as:

**I was on time today. Aren't you proud of me, Covey? **

Others have a little more depth, like:

**Thanks for helping me study for that chem test. It went really well. I couldn't have done it without you. **

The letters from college are longer. I open the one he sent on our first Halloween apart in two years.

**Dear Lara Jean, **

**I thought about you all of today. Some kids dressed up for the whole day, and you probably did too. You always dressed up for Halloween in high school, I remember. Freshman year you went as Velma from Scooby-Doo. I gotta tell you, I really dug those knee socks. So did some of the other guys. I heard them talking about it in the locker room, and I wanted to punch them. Sophomore year you were sick on Halloween and didn't get to dress up. You probably didn't think I noticed you back then. But I always did, Lara Jean. **

**And then junior year, when we were "together", you were Cho Chang from Harry Potter. I'm not gonna lie: you looked hot. That kilt showed some serious leg. And again with the knee socks. You have to tell me where you buy them. I'll get you a whole bunch for Christmas. **

**Senior year was Mulan. You went all out with the robe and everything. If you entered the costume contest, you probably would have won. But, even if you didn't win anything, I still think you looked the best out of everyone in the whole school. **

**I'm not dressing up this year. It doesn't feel the same without you, Covey. But, if you are, you need to send me pics. **

**I am excited that it's Halloween, even though I don't have a costume. That means there's only twenty-something days until I see you again. I can't wait. **

**So that's it for today. I wouldn't be totally unopposed if you decided to throw in chocolate-chip cookies or brownies or something with your next letter ;) I tried the ones in the dining hall, but they don't taste like yours. **

**Love, **

**Peter**

When I raise a hand to my cheek, I'm not surprised it comes back wet. I clutch the letter to my chest and fall back against the pillows.

_I miss him, I miss him, I miss him. _

xxx

The next morning, Kitty makes me take her to the mall. It's raining, which is odd for October in Virginia, but I'm glad that I get to wear my new black rainboots. Peter says they make my legs look really good, and ugh, I'm thinking about him again. I can't help it; when we together, he was a part of almost every facet of my life. Removing him my existence is going to be like scraping gum off the bottom of a shoe.

I wait patiently as she runs from store to store, only calling me in when it's time to pay. She picks up more sweaters than she could possibly need for one winter as well as a pair of jeans with rhinestones on them that let's be real, I totally would have bought in middle school and would probably still wear today. When we get home, I'm tired and carrying almost all the bags because Kitty is holding the smoothie she made me stop for in the food court.

I go up to my bedroom to change into comfortable clothes and start the break assignments I have. I've just pulled my hair out of its ponytail when I see it: a brand-new letter sitting in the middle of my bed with my name written on it in achingly familiar handwriting. Nearly shaking, I snatch it up and open it.

**Dear Lara Jean, **

**It took me all of fifteen minutes to realize what a complete idiot I am. But even then, I couldn't call you back. And it's because the real reason I broke up with you wasn't McClaren, but because I was scared. **

**I wasn't lying, Covey. I am a mess. I'm almost failing my history class, I'm benched in lacrosse, Mom is putting a lot of pressure on me, and my dad wants to be a part of my life again even though he couldn't be bothered for most of the last six years. With all of this going on, I started thinking about how I'm not good enough for you. You're gorgeous, funny, the nicest person I know, and you're going to be a doctor. You deserve a lot better than someone whose best quality is that he knows how to handle a lacrosse stick. Which, apparently, I can't even do anymore. **

**When I heard about McClaren being at UNC, I got even more scared. Because he's always been perfect John, and I've always been the screw up. I was afraid that you were going to realize how much better he was for you than me and break up with me. So, I beat you to it. **

**But, I'm so selfish that, even now, I can't let you go. I've been losing my mind without you. You were the only thing keeping me going, Covey, and I was so dumb to not realize that. So, here I am asking you for one more shot. I know I screwed up, but I've never felt like this about anyone before and I know I never will again. If you can forgive me, please me give me another chance. **

**I love you. **

**Yours, **

**Peter Kavinsky **

I'm up before I even finish reading. I run to the stairs, nearly skidding on the wood floor and falling down them because I'm wearing socks. Kitty shouts at me to slow down from the kitchen, but she's smiling. Two guesses as to how Peter knew I would be out and he could get the letter up here. Daddy and Trina were most definitely in on it too; she could hardly meet my eyes this morning.

I barely make it out the door before I see him. It's still pouring rain, but, without thinking, I launch myself into his arms. He catches me easily and then we're kissing.

It's almost like something out of a movie – me in his arms, my legs around his waist, kissing as the rain pours down all around is – but it's even better.

Because this is happening to _me_, and I have him back – the boy I love.

**Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed/favorited/followed - I really appreciate it! I have a basic outline for it which involves about 10 more chapters, but let me know which moments in their lives you'd like to see and I'll try my best to include them. Don't worry - I'll probably get to Peter's mom in the next chapter. Lara Jean will finally confront her and they'll come to an understanding in their relationship. Please, please, please review! :) **


	6. Resolution

**Here's chapter 6 and thanks to everyone who's reading the story! The reviews were super nice, and I really appreciated them! I've finalized an outline of 15 chapters, but if I'm feeling it and not too busy when school starts back, I could add more. Moments that I'll definitely include going forward: graduation, the proposal, the wedding, honeymoon, first anniversary (this one will go into the working in their 20's request), Kitty getting married (bc we know Covinsky will get super emotional), pregnancy, and kids.**

**Also, to the reviewer who wanted more intimacy (which I also felt was lacking in the books), next chapter as well as a few others going forward should definitely cover that! **

**Just as an fyi for this chapter, I'm using Kitty's movie age - 5 years younger than Lara Jean and Peter instead of 7. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, but the wonderful Jenny Han who gave us the treasure that is Peter Kavinsky does.**

**July 2021**

Warning(s): Explicit sexual references.

For the first time in a long time, all the Song girls are under one roof. It almost feels like we're in high school again. This morning, I stayed in bed for almost a half hour after I woke up, half-expecting Margot to come in and tell me to get up for school and Kitty to wander in wondering where her lunch is and why breakfast isn't on the table yet.

A small part of me almost wants to wake up to find it's the first day of junior year again. I wouldn't change much, but I want to relieve those years with Peter, back when things were as simple as deciding whether to go to Tart and Tangy or the diner for a snack after school.

Now, I have to worry about things like applying to medical school in the fall and whether my MCAT score is good enough and looking for a new place to live after college (which is, in turn, dependent on where I get into medical school). Peter is applying to law schools in all the same places I'm applying to med school; he thinks four years is enough time to have a long-distance relationship. Any longer and he says he'll go crazy.

I think Daddy wants me to go to school at UVA and live at home again. He even suggested as much at dinner last night. I looked at Margot with panic eyes and she saved me from having to answer by loudly asking him to pass the salad. It's not that I don't love my family and don't want to see them as much as possible; I just think I've outgrown living here permanently.

And besides, Peter and I have a plan. He's wanted to live together in New York after college since we took our senior trip here back in high school.

A knock on my door interrupts my thoughts and I look up to see Kitty standing in the doorway, holding up a nail file in one hand and the shoebox where we keep all our polish in the other. "Mani-pedis?" she asks. "Margot's waiting downstairs. She made us iced-tea and baked your cookie dough."

I slide off my bed fast. Right now, nothing sounds better. It's been so long since we've had sister time, and I've missed Kitty and Margot like crazy. "Coming," I say, and follow her out the door.

xxx

"Did it hurt the first time you had sex?"

Kitty asks this with her head bent over the shoebox, picking out a color for Margot's toes. I choke on the bite of chocolate chip cookie I'd taken, reaching for my iced-tea to help me force down the bit currently lodged in my throat. Margot's hand skitters as well, sending a large red streak across my big toe.

Kitty sees all this happen but doesn't retract her question. She just stares at us with big, expectant eyes before prompting, "Well?"

I feel my face flush and look to Margot for help. It's not that I don't want to talk to Kitty about this…actually, it's exactly that. She's my little sister, barely sixteen. I can't discuss my sex life with her. To me, it still feels like she's still a ten-year-old who doesn't know anything about love or boys or the real world.

Finally, Margot says, "It hurt a little bit the first few times." She bites her lip, "Actually, I never really enjoyed it until I got to college. It helps if you're more relaxed and if the guy knows what's doing."

Kitty tilts her head, considering this bit of information. I'm just staring at Margot, reeling. Did she just admit she never liked having sex with Josh? I wonder if he knew. I wonder how long they were doing it for if she never even had a good time.

"When was your first time?" I ask casually, popping a bit off the side of my cookie and hoping her next answer doesn't shock me too much. I never realized cookies could be a choking hazard until we started having this conversation.

"Um," she ducks her head shyly, a move that's uncharacteristic of my bold, self-assured big sister. "It was that day Daddy and Kitty went to the Smithsonian. Around the end of my senior year."

My jaw drops. "Margot! _I _was home that day!"

"You were holed up in your room with the door shut, listening to music. And you never even suspected anything, so don't give me that look, Lara Jean." She thrusts her chin in my direction indignantly and I concede. It's true: I had a paper due for a final grade in my AP Lang class, so I spent that entire day buried in research books. I only even saw Josh when we went home right before dinnertime and I was in the kitchen getting something to drink. Now that I think about it, he did look a little shifty…

"When was your first time, Lara Jean?" Kitty asks, and I look down immediately, trying to hide my blush. The truth is, I'm worse than Margot because I had sex for the first time with my entire family at home. Granted, it _was _the middle of the night and they were sleeping.

"The night before we left for Korea," I say super-fast, but they still hear it. _Hypocrite, _Margot mouths, shaking her head.

"That's why you were so tired at the airport," Kitty says, looking weirded out, and then confused. "But Peter left after dinner."

"He came back," I say sheepishly, "After midnight when you all were asleep. He climbed through my window. We set an alarm for six, so he could leave before anyone saw him." I glance at the kitchen, where I can see my stepmother sitting at the table on the phone. "It turns out Trina has known the whole time. She had to pee during the middle of the night and heard him in my room. She only mentioned it to us last month. Peter was so embarrassed, I don't think he's been able to look her in the eye since."

Both of my sisters giggle, and I know that Kitty is going to tease him about it later. Poor Peter, he'll only be more mortified.

"So," Kitty says, returning to her original question, "Did it hurt?"

"Uh," I think about it for a moment, "No, it didn't actually. I mean, it was a little uncomfortable at the beginning, but then it felt good."

Margot sits up, curling her feet underneath her butt. I look at her instead of Kitty. Peter probably wouldn't want my little sister knowing about this stuff either since they're so close, but oh well, here we are. I should definitely warn him though. One time last summer, me, Margot, her boyfriend Ravi, and Peter were hanging out at the house and somehow ended up sitting through two back-to-back episodes of Sixteen and Pregnant. Afterwards, as he was crossing the room to open the door for the pizza guy, Margot asked Peter if we always use a condom and he tripped on one of the throw pillows we'd tossed aside and fell on his face. I should have video-taped it.

"Did he do anything beforehand?" Margot asks, shifting her position, "You know, to prepare you more? Josh didn't really know what he was doing, so he kind of just went for it. I wanted to cry at first."

Kitty shudders silently and I can't blame her. I'm grateful my first time wasn't anything like that.

"Well," I sneak a glance at Kitty before deciding, what the hell, "He went down on me first, so I was ready. And we'd done hand stuff before, so I guess it was a little easier."

"Lara Jean?" my head snaps up at the sound of a voice that most certainly isn't one of my sisters' behind me. I turn around to see Mrs. Kavinsky standing behind me, clutching her purse with two hands, knuckles white. Trina is standing behind her with a guilty look on her face, mouthing _I'm sorry_.

I'm more horrified in that moment than I've ever been in my entire life. More so than when I overheard Daddy and Trina having sex when I was home for spring break freshman year. More so than when I got my period on the first day of ninth grade and was wearing a white jean skirt.

My boyfriend's mother who maybe, probably hates me just heard me talking about having oral sex with her son.

Oh my god.

I want to disappear.

"Mrs. Kavinsky is here to see you Lara Jean," Trina says, "I let her in. You girls probably didn't hear the door because you were talking." Her eyes say _don't kill me_. I glare back, my gaze steely.

I stand, brushing the cookie crumbs off my shorts. "Hi, Mrs. Kavinsky," I say with a bright smile that hopefully masks my internal panic attack, "It's nice to see you." I think I know why she's here. It's for the same reason she sent Peter off today to go pick up some furniture for the antique shop with Owen even though he was supposed to come over here instead so we could cross some more movies off the master list we've compiled for the summer. _When Harry Met Sally_ was my pick for today.

"Hello, Lara Jean," as always when she's addressing me, her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Could we talk for a moment? Alone?"

I motion to the kitchen, "Sure."

Five minutes later, I've shut the kitchen door and we're sitting across each other on the bar stools at the breakfast bar. A glass of iced-tea rests at her elbow, untouched. We stare stonily across the space between us, and I wonder who's going to break the icy silence first.

Finally, she says, "I think you know why I'm here."

"Peter's told you about applying to law schools in New York. You don't want him to."

She looks surprised for a moment at the bluntness of my tone, but then she nods. "UVA has an excellent law school. He could stay here, close to home, and receive the same quality of education he could in New York." I hear the request between the lines.

"You want me to tell him to apply to UVA instead of to New York schools," and my voice is harder than I expect. And I can't help it; I'm mad. Back in high school, when she gave me this talk, she was looking out for Peter's best interests. He was going to transfer to UNC to be with me, giving up his scholarship at UVA. She would have had to ask his father to pay for his tuition, even though he walked out on them years ago. But right now, she's being selfish. New York is Peter's dream for us, not my dream for him. Staying here is not what's best for him; it's what she wants.

"I'm sorry. I can't do that, Mrs. Kavinsky."

She blinks like I've slapped her. "What?" she asks, sounding shocked.

"I can't tell Peter to stop applying to schools in New York. He's not doing it because of me, he's doing it because it's what he wants. If you really wanted what was best for him, you would let him follow his heart."

Her eyes flash, "Don't pretend like you know him better than me, Lara Jean. I'm his mother."

"And I've been his girlfriend for over four years!" I roll my eyes bitterly, "Even if you don't act like it." I can't believe I'm saying this to Peter's mother. I wouldn't be surprised if Margot spiked the iced tea. This is so unlike me.

"Excuse me?"

"Every time I go over to your house, you act like I'm Peter's fling of the week rather than the girl he's being with for years. You never invite me to stay for dinner, you never ask about my life. You've never even asked me to call you by your first name!"

Daddy asked Peter to call him Dan a long time ago, but he still calls him Dr. Covey. He says anything else feels weird.

"I-" For a moment, Mrs. Kavinsky looks truly at a loss for words. She can't deny any hard feelings and pretend that she approves of me now, not when I've just thrown all the evidence in her face. I almost feel bad for her. She probably never expected me to confront her about how she acts towards me.

I don't even know where I've worked up the courage to do it. I think it's because the way she's treating me is making me feel like I'm in high school again, relieving all those times Gen and her friends put me down and I just let them do it. I am not going to let anyone steamroll over me again – especially not a woman I'm going to have to do deal with for the rest of my life.

"Lara Jean," I look up to find Mrs. Kavinsky staring at me intently. "You're right. The way I behave towards you is unacceptable."

I gape at her. I was kind of expecting her to yell at me.

She sighs, "The truth is, when Peter's father left us, it completely changed my outlook on the world. I stopped being able to trust people or see the good in them."

"When you broke up with him your junior year of high school, he was heartbroken. He wouldn't leave his room for the entire weekend. Since then, I haven't been able to get it out of my head that you're going to break his heart again. And, Lara Jean, he loves you so much. More than he's ever loved any girl before you, that's for sure. If you were to leave again, I'm not sure he could take it."

"I've been treating you this way because I want to protect my son. I've been trying to push you out of his life before you can hurt him again." She glances ruefully at the counter, "I hadn't realized how cruel my actions have been. Or how much they make me seem like a mean girl from high school."

Whoa. I breathe out forcefully. I hadn't been expecting her to say that. I thought she might say she didn't like me because I take up all of Peter's time or because she thinks I'm not good enough for him. I never thought any of this was because she believed I would hurt him again. I guess, after the first breakup, she started equating me with her ex-husband in her head. Seeing me as someone who would walk back into Peter's life, get his hopes up, and then leave again, breaking his heart. As someone who she needed to protect him from.

"Mrs. Kavinsky," I say softly but meaningfully, "I will never hurt your son. You have no idea how much he means to me. He's the love of my life. You don't have to worry about me leaving him: I swear to you that I'm not going anywhere. Ever." Tears creep into my eyes and when I look at her, she looks near crying as well.

"Well," she reaches out, covering my hand with hers, "It reassures me to hear that. I think I've been living my life the wrong way since Michael left. It's time I begin taking people at their word again. Starting with you."

We smile at each other, and for the first time in forever, it's peaceful between us.

She picks up her purse, glancing at her watch. "I'm glad we had this talk, Lara Jean, and you're right, I haven't made any effort to get to know more about you these couple of years. I would love to stay and talk more, but I need to bring a desert to my friend's baby-shower tomorrow and I don't even know what to make."

An idea crosses my mind. This is the perfect opportunity to extend an olive branch.

"Maybe I could help?"

xxx

"We hid behind in a bush behind them and filmed the whole thing!"

I'm telling Mrs. Kavinsky about how Daddy proposed to Trina when Peter walks into the kitchen, Owen trailing behind him. They both stop dead in their tracks and stare at us: me, wearing a faded apron that belongs to their mother with flour in my hair and a mixer in my hand, and Mrs. Kavinsky, wearing a matching apron and holding an icing tube.

"Is this a dream?" Peter turns to his brother, "Quick, pinch me. I think I'm hallucinating."

I roll my eyes. "It's real, Peter. I'm helping your mom make a cake for her friend's party tomorrow." I say this like it's a totally normal occurrence. Peter looks at me, searching my face. I see the question he doesn't ask out loud.

_Everything's fine_, I convey with my eyes, _I'll tell you about it later. _

I make good on my word after the cake is cooled and frosted and Mrs. Kavinsky and Owen have run out to the grocery store for strawberries to put on top. I take off my apron and run up to Peter's bedroom. I haven't been up here in whoa, well, forever. Not since we graduated high school.

I push open the door and find him lying on his bed, scrolling through his phone. He looks up immediately when I enter and sits up straight. "Okay, Covey, spill. Is my mom blackmailing you? Is she holding your scrapbooking kit hostage or something? Do I need to contact the police?"

I shove his shoulder lightly, sitting down on the bed across from him. "No, dummy." I look up at him, "She came to see me today."

"Yeah?" his eyes bore into mine.

"Yeah," I say, and spill everything. He listens for a long time, his face going hard when I mention that his mother tried to get me to talk him out of New York but then softening as I tell him about why she's been so cold to me for so long.

Suddenly, I need to know something. "You believe me, right?" I grip his shirt, pulling him closer, "You know I'd never hurt you again."

He kisses my forehead gently, "Yeah, Covey, of course I do. And for the record, I'd never break your heart either."

Then, he grins. "So does this mean you and my mom are like BFFs now?"

Hah. I laugh, leaning forward against his shoulder. "Let's not get carried away."

It's only an hour later after we've wandered back downstairs to grab snacks that I remember. "Oh yeah, I told Kitty all about our first time today."

He sprays the sip of water he'd just taken across the kitchen counter.

**Not sure how I feel about how this chapter; it was hard to write since we don't get a lot of Mrs. Kavinsky in the books. Next up: Lara Jean gets more than she bargained for when she sends a text (fair warning, this chapter is going to be more mature than the rest of the story so far). **

**Please review! :) **


	7. Selfies

***THIS CHAPTER HAS AN M RATING* **

**I don't want to change the rating of the entire story because I think T reflects most of the chapters, but this one is an exception. **

**There is a sex scene in this one, although it's not super explicit. If that's not your thing,**** feel free to skip over it. It's at the very end. **

**I didn't think I'd get this out today, but here it is! Thank you so much for all your wonderful reviews. A lot of you have been asking me to continue past the 15 chapters I've planned out. Honestly, I could write Covinsky all day because I'm trash for them, but I'm not sure how much time I'm going to have going forward so I can't commit to a longer story just yet. I will try for you guys though :) **

**Disclaimer: You know the drill, none of this is mine.**

**March 2022**

Warning(s): Sex scene.

It starts out like this:

Harper and I are in the kitchen of our apartment eating breakfast. Neither of us have gone grocery shopping in longer than I can remember, so my meal consists of five Oreos and Skim milk that's about a day away from its expiration date. I'm getting annoyed because there's not enough milk to fill even half the glass, so I keep having to reach my fingers all the way inside the glass to dip my Oreos in.

She finishes her toast – we'd played Rock Paper Scissors for the last piece of bread – and turns to look at me expectantly.

"What are you doing today?"

I consider this. Spring break starts in three days and I've already handed in most of my assignments. I've also already done my laundry and packed for going home on Friday. I'm especially looking forward to this trip because Peter and I are taking Kitty to watch a meteor shower on Saturday as a belated celebration of her seventeenth birthday. I can still barely believe she's so grown up – the same age I was when Peter and I started dating for real. Part of me longs for the days where her wants were as simple as a puppy for Christmas and watching R-rated movies at sleepovers. Now, she's a grown up with real needs and desires, like a boyfriend and a car.

Daddy said no the first and maybe to the second when she announced this during her birthday dinner. Peter backed him up. They were mostly kidding.

"LJ?" Harper is still staring at me. Oops; I've gone off into what she calls Lara Jean Land again.

"Um, probably nothing," I admit. I'll probably just laze around for a bit, maybe start a new book or finish _The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt_ on Netflix. I could start packing up the apartment since we're supposed to be moved out in a little under two months, but that just makes me feel depressed. I'm not ready to say good-bye to my college days yet.

There's a certain safety in being here, with no immediate demands outside of going to classes and taking tests and turning in assignments on time. And I'm going to miss Harper and Emma and Julian and all the other friends I've made so much. Especially Harper, though. She got into graduate school at the University of Chicago, so starting from August, we'll be living a 12-hour drive away from each other (flights from Chicago to New York are only 2 hours, though, we checked). I haven't even thought about what it'll be like to wake up in the mornings without the sound of her singing in the shower or how quiet mealtime will be without her constantly talking – sometimes while chewing – and trying to steal stuff off my plate.

I will be living with Peter, though, and he is definitely a food-thief as well. Especially when it's French fries. I always have to eat with my arm curved around my plate when we get burgers.

She opens her mouth to respond when my phone buzzes. We both glance at it. Peter has sent a selfie of himself in the locker rooms at UVA along with a message about lacrosse practice kicking his ass. He's not wearing a shirt, his skin slightly sweaty and hair falling into his eyes. My heartbeat kicks up a notch.

Harper laughs, shaking her head. "He's so thirsty."

Oh my god. I shove her. "No he's not! We send each other selfies all the time."

She rolls her eyes dismissively, "Quit dreaming, kid. Maybe _you_ send him selfies. He's just trying to get laid."

I think back. Peter and I have probably sent thousands of pictures of ourselves back and forth while we've been at college. I'd always thought it was because we missed seeing each other and wanted to share our lives with each other. Most of the ones I've sent to Peter are taken at parties, after I've finished baking some new recipe, or right before I go to bed and I'm doing a facemask in my pajamas…all completely innocent. But Peter's are usually like the ones I just got: after practice, shirtless; in bed, shirtless; right after taking a shower, shirtless.

I'm noticing a common theme.

Wait…what if Harper is right? What if they're actually supposed to be sexy pictures? Is this sexting?

She looks at me, amusement in her eyes. I think she's realized that this is the first time the idea has ever even occurred to me. "You're so cute, Lara Jean," she says, pinching my cheek, "Never change."

xxx

I'm still thinking about what Harper said as the credits roll on the third episode of season four of _The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt. _Netflix immediately starts the next episode, but I hit the pause button. I haven't responded to Peter's text yet. It's still early – only ten– and I don't have class on Tuesdays, so he probably thinks I'm sleeping.

The truth is, I don't really know how to respond now that Harper has planted that seed in my head. Does Peter expect a sexy picture back? How do I even take that kind of photo? I've definitely never sexted before. The closest Peter and I have ever come is when I wanted his opinion on what dress to wear to Margot's college commencement last year and accidentally took the photo from really up close so all you could see were my boobs. Now that I think about it, he was definitely happier to receive that than the picture of me wearing an eye mask and a Korean face scrub before bed…

Rolling off my bed, I get up and bang on the bathroom door. Harper has been in there so long I'm starting to wonder whether she's fallen in. And besides, I need her help.

She swings the door open, fresh out the bath with a towel wrapped around. She grins knowingly as her eyes fall on the phone clutched in my hand.

"Come in, young Padawan," she says, "Let the master show you how it's done."

xxx

According to Harper, the key to taking this kind of picture is to look sexy, but in a subtle kind of way. She tells me this while I'm perched on the bathroom counter and she's doing my makeup. She's so tall – five eleven– that we're face to face while I'm sitting up here.

With her finger, Harper dabs a bit of glossy eyeshadow on my upper lid before stepping back to study me. We're not trying to look overdone, so all I have on is a bit of concealer under my eyes, a light coating of blush, lip gloss, and some mascara. I look pretty the same as I did when I woke up, just a little less tired and with glowy eyelids.

Next, we pick the outfit. I'm sure Peter didn't spend nearly as much time taking his locker room shot but Harper shushes me when I point this out. I think she's enjoying this too much. As she rummages through my doors, I busy myself by checking my phone. Peter's been active on Instagram; he's commented on the last picture I posted – a shot of me and Emma out at a bar last weekend celebrating her boyfriend's birthday. I smile, about to reply to the comment when I remember I haven't answered his text yet and am supposed to be asleep.

Ugh, this is getting way too complicated. Right when I'm about to just take a picture of how I look right now – even though I'm still wearing the tank top I wore to sleep with a robe over it – Harper stands up and holds an outfit out to me. She's picked out the shortest shorts I own and a tank crop top that has a low neck and shows off my bellybutton.

"No way," I say, shaking my head immediately. "I can't wear that."

She stares at me quizzically, "Why not?"

"Because Peter knows that I would never wear something like that out."

"Ugh, fine," she rolls her eyes, then brightens, "Do you happen to have one of his jerseys?"

xxx

Peter's coach let him keep his high school lacrosse jersey when he graduated. For his first two years of college, it was his most prized possession. I swear he used the thing like a teddy bear when he slept. But then I put it on one morning after I slept over in his dorm and he immediately decided that it looked far better on me.

"Nope, you keep it," he'd said when I'd tried to give it back, "I won't be able to look at the thing without imagining you in it, anyways."

Now, I'm perched on the window sill wearing nothing but the jersey and my underwear beneath it. Peter is well over six feet, so it falls to mid-thigh on me and the neckline dips low. When I cross my legs and lean forward, you can pretty much see entirely down the top. Still, this is the way Harper makes me pose as she takes about a million pictures.

In the end – with almost two hours of the day wasted – we pick one of the first ones she took. She caught me right before I was about to smile, and my head is tilted slightly to the side, my lips curved upward. The sunlight glints off my hair. I look…inviting, I guess? Either way, Harper quickly decides it's the one. I'm too nervous so she sends it for me. What she also does while she has my phone is reply to the text Peter had sent before.

He wrote:

**Ugh, practice kicked my ass this morning. I'm so sore. **

Her response:

**I bet I can make it better**.

I shriek, but she's proud of herself. "You'll thank me one day," she says, winking as she grabs her books to head to the library. She still has one more assignment to turn in before break.

The apartment is too quiet after she leaves. I feel keyed up, anxious as I wait for Peter's response. My skin feels like it's buzzing. I'm torn between checking and not checking my phone. I decide to start a book but keep my phone on the bed next to me. I wait for it to buzz with a new notification, but it never does.

Where on earth is he?

xxx

I wake up to the sound of someone banging on the door to the apartment. I must have dozed off at some point while reading. For a moment, I'm convinced I'm about to die.

_So this is it_, I think. _I've had a nice life_.

But then the rational part of my brain kicks into gear, and I realize Harper most likely forgot her keys again. She does this at least three times a month. I'm even worse than her. We have five spare keys between the two of us, but it somehow hasn't solved the problem.

"I'm coming," I grumble, getting to my feet. I'm still wearing the jersey, although it's a little crushed from my afternoon nap. I throw open the door, getting ready to scold Harper again when a mouth crashes into mine.

There's no mistaking the strong arms that are now wrapped around my waist. Without thinking, I lock my arms around his neck, bringing him close. He smells like home. He bites my bottom lip, flicking his tongue across it and I groan a little, slightly weak in the knees. I part my lips for entry and he wastes no time. Our mouths are moving with a desperate sort of urgency, kind of like we're trying to out-kiss each other. I really hope he picks me up soon because I might tip over. This is probably the most intense kiss of my entire life.

As though he can read my mind, Peter lifts me up and spins us around, kicking the door shut and pinning me against the wall. I lock my legs around him, our chests pressed together. When I touch the back of his neck gently, bringing his mouth to mine, a shiver goes through him. But, right before our lips touch, he angles his face away so that I kiss his cheek instead. I let out a small whimper of displeasure and he laughs.

"I'm gonna make you pay for that picture, Covey," he says wickedly, his lips just out of reach. He's grabs both of my wrists, pinning them back against the wall. We're eye-to-eye, the air crackling between us.

"Okay," I breathe, "Make me pay."

Those words shatter the last bit of self-control he has left. We've been having sex for the last four years and I've seen all different sides to Peter in bed – gentle, caring, playful, and _this_. It feels desperate and world-ending; like I might actually burst into flames if he doesn't touch me within the next second.

It's only been this way a few times before, but I think it might be my favorite kind.

Peter places his hands under my thighs, supporting me as he carries me over to the bed. It occurs to me dimly that Harper could be back soon, but that thought evaporates as he sets me down on my back, hovering above me. I want to kiss him so badly I physically ache with it. I try and reach up, but he puts a hand on my stomach, pushing me back down.

I don't understand what his endgame is until I feel his lips against my neck. It's a slight, barely there touch, but I feel like I might go crazy from the jolt of want it sends through my body. I never thought I would be able to feel a kiss against the side of my throat all the way down to my toes. His teeth scrape against my pulse point, and I shudder.

"Peter," I groan, or something close to it. I've lost the ability to perform intelligible speech. His hands ghost down my body until they settle on the hem of the jersey. Slowly, he tugs it upward and over my head. It's still light out and we're right in front of the window. Under normal circumstances, I would be cringing at being so exposed, so vulnerable (even if it is Peter). He can see every single inch of my body. My mind would be firing a million thoughts per minute, like: Oh my god, did I shave my legs toady? or Does my stomach look bloated? or Ugh, I have a tan line.

But today, I can't think of anything beyond this urgent need I have for Peter. And he knows it too. He smirks down at me, his eyes dark.

Carefully, Peter presses his lips to the spot just above my breast bone. I wonder if he can feel my heartbeat. With his right hand, he reaches behind me to unclip my bra. He easily removes it from around me and throws it to the side. People are right when they say sex isn't really like how it's portrayed in the movies. They always skip over any awkward fumbling and the struggle of getting all your clothes off and any condom business. But I like to think that being with Peter is more like it is in the movies than it would be with any other boy. He's as smooth in bed as he is every other facet of his life.

Peter mouths a careful line down the center of my body, deliberately avoiding the place where I want to feel him most. Finally, when I think I might combust, he returns to my breasts. With his mouth and talented hands, he quickly has my blood ten times hotter. Needing to feel his skin, I grab the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head. This interrupts what he's doing, and he smiles teasingly down at me after shaking off the t-shirt, crooking his finger. "_I'm _in charge here," he says in a voice that makes my toes curl. This is the first time he's been so dominant, and to be honest, I'm kind of liking it. Okay, I'm more than liking it.

Pining my wrists above my head with one arm, he uses the other to hook one finger on the waistband of my panties. He hasn't kissed me since we got to the bed, but his lips hover mere centimeters away, teasing me.

I let out a small gasp as I feel him slide my underwear down my legs. Unfairly, he's still wearing his jeans and boxers. I try to even the score when he finally unpins my arms, but he's moving away, down my body, to the foot of the bed.

When he's on his knees, I finally comprehend what he's up to. He hooks his large hands under my thighs, moving me farther down the bed. He presses a kiss to the inside of my knee and moves upward, leaving a little bite on my inner thigh that makes me whimper. He soothes the tiny ache with his lips, so close to where I want him. He looks at me then and gives this crooked little grin that completely _undoes_ me before placing a gentle kiss between my legs. I jerk upwards off the bed, but Peter lifts one hand to my stomach, stroking it softly as he pushes me back down.

I'm a writhing, sweaty mess at this point, stuck some place between heaven and hell. Ever so often, I get _so _close before he stops, and then starts all over again, building me back up. It's torture.

Finally, when I truly can't take it anymore, I grab his shoulders and tug him upwards. He's not expecting it, which is the only reason I can get it his six foot two frame to even budge. I take advantage of his momentary surprise by undoing the zipper on his jeans and pulling them, as well as his boxers, down in one fell swoop.

Now, the playing field is even.

But Peter suddenly regains the upper hand, pushing me back onto the bed while he holds himself above me. I can see the gold flecks in his eyes as he looks down at me. "Condom?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

Reaching out, I yank open the nightstand drawer and fish one out. I roll it on him carefully before lying back against the pillow.

"Kiss me," I say, but instead he pushes inside.

He lets out a long groan, screwing his eyes shut momentarily and stilling. Apparently the beforehand worked him up just as me. I look into his face, watching him fight for control. As his expression clears, he starts to move again. We quickly build up a tempo that has both of us gasping, and I can feel the end in sight. Honestly, it's truly a magical feat that I manage to last more than two minutes. I can tell from the way he's breathing that he's not far behind.

"So," I pause, gasping, "Close." And I am. If he could just – Suddenly, Peter leans down and gives me what I've been waiting for all along: he firmly presses his lips against mine, tongue delving into my mouth just as one hand slips down between my legs.

I implode right alongside him.

When it passes, I am a limp noodle, gasping for breath. Peter rolls off of me and onto his side, getting up to dispose of the condom. When he gets back in bed, he immediately pulls me into him. I go willingly, tucking my head into the crook of his arm.

Looking up at his face, I say, "I should send you pictures like that more often."

I feel his whole body shake as he laughs.

xxx

I wake up in the morning to see Harper in the kitchen. We're in my bed, which is right in the middle of the living area and kitchen. She winks when she sees I'm awake, nodding at the space next to me where Peter is asleep, sans shirt, one arm wrapped around my waist.

"Told you you'd thank me."

**Next up: Graduation, a party, and an unexpected love confession (+ Kitty teases Peter about his and Lara Jean's first time).**

**Just curious: Does anyone want to see Gen pop up again in this story? Or any other characters, like Chris or Lucas?**

**Don't forget to review! :) **


	8. Graduation

**Oops, I wrote and posted this all after 2 in the morning, but I wanted to get it out. I'm really glad you all liked the last chapter, I was nervous about that one. Do you guys want more of stuff like that or no? **

**As always, I loved the reviews. You guys are the best :) **

**Chris is back in this one as well as John Ambrose McClaren, but we're saying good-bye to one of them forever. Lucas will definitely be featured going forward - he & Lara Jean stayed in touch, and they're going to be living in the same city now. Still undecided about Genevieve because I'm not sure if I can write her as a decent human being since she was terrible in the books, but I'll see. **

**Without further ado, here's chapter 8!**

**Disclaimer: Jenny Han owns these wonderful characters and their stories. **

**May 2022 **

You never realize how quickly time passes until you're standing in line at your college commencement ceremony, trying to figure out a polite way to tell the boy standing behind you that he's stepping on the edge of your gown.

It's like one day you're graduating from high school and the world is yours for the taking, college stretching out in front of you as your first adventure into the unknown. And then you blink and it's over, and suddenly the rest of your life has arrived.

Boy-who-overdid-it-on-the-cologne steps off my gown, snapping me out of my metaphysical internal monologue and alleviating my crushing anxiety over what to do if he was still standing on it when they called my name to go on stage. I breathe a sigh of relief, straightening.

As I do, I spot my family sitting in the crowd. Daddy is looking teary-eyed already – just like he did when it was Margot's turn two years ago – and Trina is patting him on the arm. She looks pretty in a white dress that shows off her tanned legs. Margot is sitting next to her; she made the four-and-a-half-hour drive down from D.C just to witness my special moment. Sitting in the last two seats of their row are Peter and Kitty, who is whispering something into his ear. He looks so handsome in his light blue button down that my heart swells.

It means so much to me that he's here to see this. Last weekend, I drove down to UVA for his commencement ceremony. I felt an overwhelming surge of pride as I watched him cross the stage and accept his diploma.

Back when we were dating in high school, I used to get this sad, yearning feeling at the thought of Peter becoming a man. Mostly because I believed that I would never get to meet the all grown-up version of Peter Kavinsky; that the boy he was back then would go to UVA and meet someone else and forget that once upon a time, he used to be with a girl like me.

Watching him walk across the stage last week, I felt like I was seeing Peter as a man, not a boy, for the first time. And, not only had I gotten the chance to meet him, he was still mine.

"Alexandra Cohen," the headmaster calls out the name of the girl in front of me, who immediately begins her ascent up to the stage. I'm suddenly the one standing at the base of the stairs, waiting to hear my name be called. Irrationally, I'm nervous.

It's just four steps and then across the stage, I tell myself. I can do it, even in heels. And, oh crap, I need to give the headmaster my best handshake. Not the weak, flimsy one I use on strangers when I'm taken aback by a sudden outstretched hand. I need a firm, confident shake. Should I have practiced on Harper last night?

"Lara Jean Song Covey."

_Be cool, Lara Jean. _

I force a smile onto my face as I walk up the steps and over to where the headmaster is standing. My smile becomes real as I look out into the crowd and see my family waving back at me, Kitty trying to take a picture on her cellphone as Peter tries to help her find the best angle.

Turning back towards the stage, I grasp the headmaster's hand and shake it as resolutely as I can. He gives me a gentle smile, "Congratulations, Lara Jean." I accept my diploma.

As I prepare to exit the stage, I turn back to the crowd one last time and move the tassel on my cap from one side to the other. And then it's done.

I'm officially a college graduate.

xxx

Harper and I want to take our picture together on the quad where we hung out for the very first time. I still remember it perfectly: we were sitting in a comfortable silence in our dorm room studying for exams we had the next week when she looked over at me and said, "It's a perfect day. Let's not waste it in here."

Did I waste it? My college years, I mean. Life will never be this simple again. Did I meet enough people, go to enough parties, take enough chances?

I look over at Harper, who's trying to tug the neckline of her dress further down to look good for the photos. Yes, I decide definitively, before banishing the rest of these thoughts from my mind. Man, this whole graduating stuff really does make a person all introspective.

We take pictures posing in four different ways. My favorite is the last one. We're not making silly faces like in the others, just smiling widely with our arms around each other. I feel choked up suddenly and when I look at her, her eyes go wide.

"No. Don't you start with that emotional crap right now, LJ, otherwise we're both going to be crying. It's not the end for us yet, kiddo."

She's right, both in the sense of the immediate and the future. We're definitely planning on keeping in touch while we're living in Chicago and New York. And, right now, she's heading back with me to Virginia to attend a party Daddy and Trina are throwing in my honor at the house. In a surprising twist of events, Chris – who I've kept in touch with only through the odd text here and there – is going to be there as well. My past colliding with my present.

I hug her, hard. She squeezes me back just as tightly before saying she has to run to the bathroom before we start the trip home. My family is already on their way since they need to get everything ready. Peter is driving me and Harper back. I'm one of those lucky people whose boyfriend and best friend get along perfectly; it makes sense, they both have those loud, magnetic personalities. Unlike me, both of them are usually the immediate center of attention when they enter a room.

I'm shoving my phone back into the little clutch Margot has lent me for the day when I hear a familiar voice say, "Lara Jean?"

I already know who it is before I turn around. John Ambrose McClaren. I shake my head ruefully; of course, the universe would throw this at me today. I've only seen him around campus a handful of times in the two years he's been here, and those interactions have mostly just been awkward smiles and weird moments of eye-contact like _I know you_. Yet, somehow, on the day I leave, he is here again, boyish and angelic and hopeful.

"John," I try to force sincerity into my voice, "Congratulations." I nod towards the diploma in his hand.

"You too," he says hurriedly before stepping forward, "Lara Jean-"

I hold up a hand to stop him, feeling a sweat already breaking out on my forehead. "Stop, John. Please."

But he just shakes his head, moving even closer. "I'm going to regret it for the rest of my life if I don't say this, so just let me get it out." He takes a deep breath. "Lara Jean, you were my first crush. Before I met you, I thought all girls were annoying and had cooties. But you were different. You didn't try to always tag along with the boys, you only spoke up when you had something meaningful to say rather than blabbing all the time like Gen and Chris, and you were so careful about everything. Like that bracelet Gen gave you. You never let anyone else touch it and you never pulled on it because you were scared it would fray."

My heart is hurting for him. How does he remember all of this? How can I possibly tell him he has no chance after this is over?

"You were my first kiss, too. It was probably the greatest moment of middle school for me, even though it was so short, and I was too nervous to even touch you. When I moved away, the thing I was most sad about was losing you. But then, I got your letter and I found out that you felt that way about me too. Suddenly, I had hope. It had been years, Lara Jean, but the second I got your response to my first letter, I started liking you again. Since then, I've never really stopped."

What is he doing? Why is he doing it? What is he trying to achieve? I glance around with panicky eyes. Peter is around somewhere. He could walk over and hear this at any moment now.

"When we said good-bye once, Lara Jean," he says, looking up at me for the first time during all of this, "You said maybe we could have a shot one day. So, I have to ask. Do you still believe that?"

I'm already shaking my head when I meet his eyes. His face falls, but I step forward, grabbing his arm. Despite everything, there was a time where I truly believed I was in love with him. I can't leave it like this.

"You're a wonderful guy, John Ambrose McClaren. One day, you'll find someone who deserves you and she'll be luckiest girl in the world. But she isn't me." I smile. "My heart already belongs to somebody else."

He nods, acceptance on his face along with the hurt. I feel an arm slip around my shoulders and inhale the smell of Peter's cologne. I look up at him and there's no hardness in his gaze as he nods at John. He's smiling, no doubt having heard the last bit of our conversation. This drives it home for me: Peter has really grown up.

As I watch the boy I used to love walk away from me for the last time, I smile, leaning my head against Peter's shoulder.

I think I have too.

xxx

Daddy and Trina go all out for the party. They've hung a huge glittery banner that says 'Congratulations, Lara Jean!' in huge black metallic letters across the kitchen and set up the table with black and gold everything. There's macaroons, cookies, cake pops, salted caramel popcorn, a book for guests to write personalized messages, and photos of me throughout my life scattered everywhere. Peter keeps looking at the one of three-year-old me trying to play the xylophone, a soft smile on his face.

Kitty gave me a golden tiara to wear earlier – it was a part of her Halloween costume last year – but I feel obnoxious with it on, so I toss it into one of the kitchen drawers. I'm turning to go back into the living room where most of the party is when I see her.

Chris.

She's standing in the foyer, holding a gift bag and looking lost. For a moment, I just stare at her. Her hair is her natural ash blonde color and cut to her shoulders. She's wearing the most normal outfit I've seen on her in years: a dark purple flowery skirt and a grey blouse. And then she looks up and sees me.

I stumble forward clumsily and so does she. We meet somewhat awkwardly in the middle, our arms going around each other. I notice that we still fit together the way we used to: my chin somewhere near her collar bone, toes touching.

"Hi," she breathes when she pulls back, sounding unsure.

Smiling, I say, "Hey."

xxx

What do you say to the best friend you haven't seen in four years? I don't know the answer to that question any better than Chris, so, at first, it's stilted between us. I ask about Costa Rica and nod at all the right parts without really responding. I can sense she's holding back; I'm not someone who gets the entirety of her stories anymore.

However, at some point, we start to find that familiar chord of friendship again. She winks at me when she mentions Peter, asking, "So I'm guessing you finally cashed in that v-card?" I blush, but the entire story comes tumbling out, including the part where he tripped climbing out my bedroom window and rolled off the roof onto the bush below my window.

Chris howls, and just like that, we could be seventeen again.

She tells me all about her adventures: her service trip to India last summer, her enrollment at James Madison two years after the rest of us started college, her borderline serious relationship with a guy in her psychology class. I spill about the John Ambrose McClaren fiasco earlier today – and not even Peter knows that whole story. She looks disappointed when I tell her that John and I officially ended it in peace, sighing into her cup, "Damn, Lara Jean. I love me a good triangle."

"It wasn't a triangle!" I sock her in the arm, but I'm giggling too.

We're sitting at the counter when Harper comes in, still flushed in the cheeks from her conversation with Trina's cute nephew. She doesn't let me make the acquaintances first; Harper has never needed an introduction. Instead, she holds out her hand. "Hi, I'm Harper. LJ's college roommate and best friend."

I flinch a little at that, glancing at Chris for her reaction. A bit of unease flickers across her face, but then she just smiles, putting her hand in Harper's: "I'm Chris. Lara Jean is an old friend of mine."

I'm caught between the two of them, wondering who I should talk to first. Harper, who is about to leave my side for the first time in four years. Chris, who I haven't seen for exactly that time.

Fortunately, they solve my conundrum for me by striking up a conversation about how good the macaroons are. Somehow, that leads to Harper describing her trip to Paris with her family a few years ago and Chris exclaiming how much she wants to go. "You went to Europe a few summers ago, didn't you, Lara Jean?" she asks, her eyes sliding to me and then all three of us are talking and laughing like we've been friends our entire lives.

I should have known that these two would find a way to get along. They are the same, after all. Wild, confident, fearless.

Old and new, my two best friends.

xxx

Harper leaves just before midnight. I'm helping Margot clear the plates in the kitchen when she comes up to me, already wearing her coat. I feel my throat closing up as my big sister excuses herself quietly.

Harper is staying in a hotel tonight before flying out to Los Angeles, her hometown, tomorrow morning. For the first time in ages, I can't say goodnight with the given that I'll see her again soon.

"No speeches because this isn't goodbye," she says sternly, and then pulls me in. The back of her hair is shimmery from Kitty's confetti poppers, and she smells like the fruity perfume she was wearing the first day I met her.

"I'm going to miss you so much," I say when I pull back.

"Right back at you, LJ."

She looks at me with teary eyes, "You'd better keep in touch." And then she kisses my cheek and walks out the door.

xxx

Chris is coming to New York for Christmas, so we make plans to hang out then. I don't know if it'll happen, but I really, really hope it does.

After all, she was my friend when even Peter treated me like I didn't exist. You don't forget things like that easily.

She gives me a quick wave across the room when she's leaving because I'm deep in conversation with Peter's mom. Apologizing to Mrs. Kavinsky, I break away and run after her, even though I'm not wearing shoes.

"We should text more," I say when I reach her just as she's getting into her car, breathing hard. That's it, nothing else.

She laughs and says, "Stay weird, Lara Jean," but hugs me tight nonetheless.

xxx

Peter is washing dishes, Daddy is drying, and I'm putting them back into the cupboards. Trina and Margot are cleaning up the decorations, and Kitty is flipping through the book to see what people wrote. Some things never change.

"And that's a wrap," Daddy says after I've put the last plate away. We survey the kitchen, which is now spotless.

He puts a hand on Peter's shoulder, "Thanks for all your help today. We couldn't have pulled this off without you. You should go up to Lara Jean's room and get some sleep now. I think you've earned it."

We regard each other with wide eyes. Peter's stuff is in his car, yes, but I don't think either of us expected Daddy would _invite _him to spend the night in my room with me. I mean, we are living together come fall, but still.

"Oh, take the win," Kitty says with a wink in Peter's direction, "At least now you don't have to sneak in the window anymore."

Peter turns bright red and Daddy looks alarmed, turning to us and loudly demanding what she means. I just grab Peter and shove him upstairs, ignoring Daddy asking Kitty what she meant again. She just says, "Hmm," all mysterious before jumping off the counter and following us upstairs. I have a feeling that was just one of the many jokes she'll crack at Peter's expense before the night is truly over.

xxx

An hour later, after Peter has endured many barbs from Kitty about our first night together, we're lying shoulder-to-shoulder in my bed, holding hands.

I'm not going to lie; the girl has a special talent for humiliating people. My personal favorite was when she asked Peter how much he enjoyed his first sleepover here. "You guys _did _just braid each other's hair and make friendship bracelets all night, right?" she asked, all wide-eyed and innocent. My poor boyfriend went pink in the cheeks before tossing a pillow in her direction, launching the pillow fight that lasted ten whole minutes and Margot had to come in to break up.

"I never thought we'd get here," I say, turning my cheek to look at Peter. He is almost asleep, his eyes nearly shut. His eyelashes, which are much longer than mine, touch his cheekbones.

"What do you mean?" he mumbles sleepily.

"Past college. I didn't think we'd make it this far."

He turns onto his side then, so we're face to face. Reaching out, he pinches my nose. "Well, we did. You're stuck with me now, kid."

I don't say it out loud, but what I'm thinking is: _I wouldn't want it any other way. _

**Next up: a proposal **

**Reviews make me happy :) **


	9. Proposal

**Hi, before I start the chapter, I'm going to clarify a few things:**

**This chapter is set in May 2024, so here is how old everyone is followed by what they're up to in their lives at the moment: **

**1) ****Peter, 24: Living in NYC with Lara Jean, just finished his second year at Fordham Law School**

**2) ****Lara Jean, 24: Living in NYC with Peter, just wrapped her second year of medical school at NYU **

**3) ****Kitty, 19: Rising junior at Barnard College in NYC so she lives close to Peter and Lara Jean (+ has her own bedroom in their place), has had a boyfriend for the last year and a half (and yes, Lara Jean does tease her about him)**

**4) ****Margot, 26: Lives in DC, is a PhD candidate at Georgetown while working part-time at the anthropology department at the Smithsonian. In an on-again, off-again relationship that's currently off with her college boyfriend, Ravi, who lives in London.**

**** Side Note: it was Harper who Lara Jean had that final seeming goodbye with in Chapter 8, not Margot. Sorry if it was confusing; Lara Jean was in the kitchen with Margot when Harper came in. **

**5) ****Owen, 19: Just completed his sophomore year at UVA, but still tries to see his brother as often as he can. No girlfriend, but fun fact: he once had a crush on Kitty. **

**6) ****Chris, 24: Just got her bachelors from James Madison University and is currently traveling the world before she decides what to do with the rest of her life. Has been good friends with Lara Jean since they reconnected in the last chapter. **

**7) ****Lucas, 24: Graduated from Sarah Lawrence College, lives in NYC, aspires to become an actor and splits time between reading auditions and working at a restaurant. Has guest-starred in a few things. Lara Jean introduced him to his current boyfriend, who goes to school with her at NYU. We'll see him in the next chapter. **

**I'm still undecided about including Gen, but we'll see. **

**Wow, that was the longest author's note ever. Here's chapter 9. It's canon with the books, not the movie, even though I love both. There's Peter's POV in this, which is new. He's in third person because I'm terrible at writing boys in first person. Hope it turned out okay :) **

**Also, as context if you haven't read the books: Peter and Lara Jean used to be friends in middle school and they would hang out in her neighbor's tree house. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

His class had been the first group to go down to the auditorium, so he's already been sitting in his seat for the past ten minutes when she sits down in front of him. Before, he'd been tapping out an insistent rhythm on the chair with his fingers, kicking aimlessly at the chairs around him – twelve-year-old boys, after all, can't be expected to sit still for very long.

His head snaps to attention when she takes her seat, her black hair flowing down her back. For some reason, he wants to touch it. He doesn't know why; it's a well-known fact that all girls have cooties. But her hair looks so soft and inviting, like it would feel silky to the touch and smell like strawberries or coconuts or something else silly like that. He finds it so stupid that girls wear products like fruity shampoo or vanilla perfume because, hello, why would you want to smell like something you eat? It doesn't stop him from wanting to lean forward and smell the back of the girl's head though.

He catches sight of her backpack as she slides it off her shoulder. There's a name spelled out precariously in rhinestone letters across the back. Craning his neck, he can barely make it out: Lara Jean Song Covey.

He thinks it's a pretty name. She basically has two first names in one, but they sound right together. He leans back in his seat, frowning as he continues to think about her. He feels like maybe he's heard of her before, the name Covey definitely sounds familiar. He'll ask his mom tonight.

Trevor Pike, his best friend in the whole world, suddenly plops down in the seat at his side, exclaiming loudly about how lame assemblies are. The third member of their trio, John Ambrose McClaren, is on his left. He shoots Trevor a reproachful look, his brown eyes darting around to see if any teachers have heard, "S-shh, Trevor."

And then the two of them start to fight, Trevor leaning over Peter to make fun of John's stutter, and Lara Jean fades from his mind completely.

xxx

I wake up the same way I have for the last two years: with Peter's arms around me. I didn't realize it before we moved in together, but he's a cuddler. Even if we begin the night on our separate pillows, not even touching, we'll still somehow wake up draped all over each other.

Take today, for instance. Peter crashed right after coming home from his internship last night, but I didn't fall asleep till hours later, turned away from him. And yet, here we are: face to face, his arm around my stomach, legs tangled, my foot resting on his ankle.

I smile as I study him, wondering how long I can get away with creeping on him before he wakes up. He's so peaceful when he's sleeping. He looks years younger.

"I can feel you watching me," he says suddenly, and cracks one green eye open. "Don't worry," his smile is lazy, "I don't mind."

I'm suddenly very aware that the arm draped across me has now moved more securely around my waist and his fingers are rubbing gentle circles on the small of my back. That's usually his tell. "Peter," I say very sternly, rubbing a hand across his stubbly cheek. He couldn't grow a beard if he tried, but he's definitely lost his boyish perk of hardly needing to shave. "Kitty is right next door and Owen is in the living room."

It's early May, so we've both just wrapped up our second years of medical school and law school respectively. I'm doing research at the lab this summer while he has his internship. Most colleges have breaked already too, so Kitty and Owen have been staying with us since Tuesday. Kitty goes to school nearby during the year, so she has a room, while Owen is staying on the couch.

"So?" he tries to pull me closer, lifting his mouth to meet mine. "I'm sure the kids are familiar with what sex is, Lara Jean. They do teach that in school these days."

I giggle but smack his arm away. "I don't want my sister to hear me having sex, Peter! Think of how traumatized she'll be."

He pouts, "I'll be quiet."

I'm already rolling out of bed. I don't have a lot of rules, but this is one of them. The wall between our room and Kitty's is very, very thin. But he looks so cute in that moment that I lean back across the bed to give him a quick kiss on the lips. When he opens his eyes, he looks so hopeful I have to laugh.

"Sorry, Peter," I say, shaking my head teasingly before getting up for good. "I have to make breakfast."

It turns out that we probably could have at least fooled around a little because both Kitty and Owen are still dead to the world when I finish frying the last piece of French toast. I set out orange juice before going back to the bedroom to get showered and changed. I pass Peter on my way in and he shoots me a little glare, still mock-annoyed. I blow a kiss before shutting the door behind him.

When I've showered and changed into a nice sundress for the day, I walk back out and into the kitchen, combing through my still-wet hair with my fingers. Peter, Owen, and Kitty are all huddled around the center of the island, talking quietly. When Kitty spots me, she suddenly says, in an overly loud voice, "The weather is so nice today, isn't it?"

They quickly follow her lead, with Owen chiming in, "We should definitely go out."

"We could go see some touristy places, like Brooklyn bridge." That's Peter. I shake my head. I recognize his fake voice so easily.

All of them are lying.

This is actually the third time I've walked in and heard them quickly change the topic since Kitty and Owen have been here. I have no idea what they're up to, but I think it might be Kitty's way of getting back at me for how much I've been teasing her about her boyfriend Caleb since they started dating back in her freshman year. Owen is mad at me too since I made fun of his old crush on Kitty at dinner a few nights ago, causing them both to turn beet red and storm off into their rooms like temperamental teenagers. Well, in Owen's case, it was just a few feet to the living room. He glared mutinously at me and Peter while we continued to laugh about it as we cleared the dishes.

Poor Owen. He really had it bad for my little sister when they were in tenth grade. He even confessed his love to her with a note in her locker (he may be a little more like me than either of us has realized). She was horrified, sadly, and exclaimed that he was like family to her. They stayed really close friends, though, and even went to prom together. They looked so adorable; I made Daddy send me a about a million pictures.

Anyway, I have a bad feeling that revenge is coming. I've been sniffing my shampoo bottles in the shower to make sure there's nothing mixed in, searching my clothes for holes before I put them on, and looking over my shoulder at every moment.

God, I really hope they get to whatever they're planning soon. I'm getting exhausted.

xxx

He makes his mom drop him off a whole half-hour before everyone else is supposed to arrive because he knows she'll already be up there. She always comes up early to set up the snacks: ice cream sandwiches, Cheez-its, sometimes Capri-Sun, or if her Dad is home, this really good drink that tastes like a combination of lemonade and iced tea. He thinks it's a little unfair that she always supplies the food, but she never complains. One time, he almost offered to bring something for the next time but then thought it would give away the fact that he's pretty sure he likes her.

Like, like-likes her. In a way that makes him want to be around her all the time and just listen to her talk all day. She has this really slow, steady way of speaking that he likes. It makes her every word sound important.

Sure enough, when he climbs up the ladder to the tree-house, she's artfully arranging Cheez-its in the center of the floor. The cooler at the base of the tree was filled with Capri-Sun, which means Dr. Covey is at the hospital. Margot must be watching her and Kitty.

"Hey, Lara Jean," he says pokes his head through the top. She lets out a startled little squeak as she whirls her head around. Seeing him, she relaxes. "Hi, Peter."

For a moment they're quiet. Then she's ordering him to go bring up the cooler and start unloading the ice cream sandwiches. He tries to get snatch one early, but she slaps his hands away. "Those are for _everyone_, Peter," she says in this firm, snotty little voice that makes him want to laugh. If it were anyone else, he would be offended. But, for some reason, it just makes this warm feeling grow inside his chest.

Suddenly panicked, he moves towards the ladder, mumbling something about needing the bathroom. But really, he's just looking for an excuse to get out of there before he does something dumb like kiss her.

xxx

To my surprise, Peter really does take Kitty and Owen out to see more of the city that day. I still can't shake the feeling that something is up though. They leave right after breakfast, without inviting me to tag along. I wouldn't have gone anyways – there is a new book by my favorite historical romance writer calling my name – but it's still odd. I consider texting Kitty's boyfriend to ask him if he knows what's up but put aside the notion.

I think I make him nervous anyways, because, when we first met him, Peter threatened to beat him up if he ever hurt Kitty. They've been getting along great since then, but you know what they say: the first impression is the last impression.

I laze around the apartment for a while, not really knowing what to do with myself after I finish the book. I organize and re-organize my closet twice, clean up the kitchen, and even try to get a jump start on the reading I have to do for the research project I've working on this summer. I keep checking my phone to see if Peter, Kitty, or Owen have texted me anything about what they're doing, but I get nothing.

They finally come in around five in the afternoon, talking loudly between them. I still feel like it's just for my benefit though.

After I kiss Peter hello, which both Kitty and Owen groan at, I ask where they've been all day.

Peter says, "Statue of Liberty" at the same time Kitty mumbles "Freedom Tower" and Owen goes "Central Park."

"Really?" I cross my arms over my chest, "You went to all those places?" I check my phone, "You were gone for five hours.'"

"The crowds were really small everywhere," Peter squeezes my shoulder as he moves past me to the bedroom, but he doesn't meet my eyes.

Very suspicious indeed.

xxx

He's tapping his foot insistently against the stool as he waits for his biology teacher to call out partners for the next lab. Both Gabe Rivera and Darrell Bloom – the boys from the lacrosse team that he's been hanging out with since he made varsity – and Gen are in his class. He's hoping he gets paired with one of them, because, not be mean, the other options aren't too hot.

Jeffrey Schulman, who smells like BO. Chris, who's asleep most of the time. Eager girls who sit up straight when their teacher begins speaking, giving him side-long glances that makes Gen glare in their direction. And, tucked so far into the corner of the room that he almost bypasses her, Lara Jean Covey.

To be honest, most of the time he forgets she's in this class. It's usually only when the teacher hands back tests and stops to say, "Lara Jean, I'll use yours as an answer key," that he remembers. She's quiet, much quieter than he remembers her being, and easy to miss.

He supposes being paired with her wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, but she's certainly not his top choice. Or even his second or third. He can't even remember the last time he spoke to her. Probably sometime shortly after that kiss in McClaren's basement – his first kiss, not that he'd ever admit it to anyone. She'd just suddenly dropped out of their little group – all groups, really, as he only ever sees her around with Chris or her sister – and off his radar. Truthfully, he hadn't really noticed until now that they weren't friends, or even friendly, anymore. Gen and lacrosse are his world now.

"Genevieve, you're with Rachel," Mr. Porter drones, not looking up from the paper in his hand. He lets out a mental groan. "Darrel and Jennifer, Gabe and Jarred, Kylie and Tyler, Laura and Dylan, Jeffrey and Kevin, Chris and Lucas, and Peter, you're with Lara Jean."

He hears a sudden thud behind him and turns to see Lara Jean fumbling to pick up her biology textbook. She's so short that her feet dangle off the stool and she has to get off to reach the book. It's mildly endearing, but not nearly enough for him to be pleased about this pairing.

He shoots Gen a _What can you do _look and shrugs his shoulders, turning to Lara Jean. She's not even looking up at him. He feels a spark of annoyance. "Hey, Covey," he says, irritation in his tone, "I don't like this either, but let's just get it over with."

Her head snaps up, her eyes wide and a little hurt. "Sure, Kavinsky," she says, her tone hard and filled with something…disappointment maybe. Like she can't believe this is the way he turned out.

He rolls his eyes; the last thing he cares about is what Lara Jean Covey thinks of him. Even if she was the first girl he ever liked. Even if he hates the sound of her calling him by his last name, despite the fact that it's what everyone else does. Even if, when their fingers brush as she hands him a microscope, he feels an electric jolt go through his arm.

xxx

Peter and I have dinner alone because Kitty and Owen decide that they they're in the mood for burgers and go to the Shake Shack down the block. He's helping me clean up the kitchen when I decide to catch him off guard: "What did you guys do today? I mean, really."

He stiffens, turning away from me as he scrubs the plate he's holding with even more vigor. I move closer to him until my eyes are boring into his side profile. He won't even look at me as he says, voice subdued, "I told you. We just went sight-seeing."

He's clearly still lying, but I decide to let it go. I'll let them have their fun this time. I just hope they're not planning something too terrible, like green dye in my shampoo. Owen did it to Peter once back when we were in high school, and he looked like The Joker for a week.

"Fine," I sigh, when it's clear he's not giving anything up. "But you'd better not let the kids get too carried away. I don't want to end up losing a limb or looking like a Smurf."

He laughs at that, the tension leaving his body as he turns to me and throws an arm around my shoulders. He presses a kiss to the side of my head, "But you look so pretty in blue."

I shove him away, but I'm smiling. I watch him glance at the clock: "Hey, it's still early and Kitty and Owen will probably be gone for a while. Movie?"

I nod, "Okay." When he turns away to put the last dish on the rack, I grab the back of his shirt and yank him towards me again. Stretching all the way up on my tiptoes, I bring his face close to mine. "Let's pick up from this morning afterwards."

His eyes widen as he says "Yes, ma'am" and goes to put on the movie. I hope it's not a good one, because I don't think either of us are going to be paying much attention to the screen.

xxx

~ All the dialogue is from the book ~

They're sitting in his car at a quarter past midnight when he realizes he's started liking her again.

They're talking about Tommy Martinez asking her to homecoming last year, the car dark and quiet aside from the sound of their voices. Her face is illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the windshield, and he thinks he's never seen her look prettier. It's not the fact that she's wearing more makeup than usual, and her hair is streaming over her shoulders (although he definitely does like it that way), but the rare vulnerability on her face.

"It's scary when it's real. When it's not just thinking about a person, but, like, having a real live person in front of you, with, like, expectations," she's saying in that slow, careful way he likes so much, and he's surprised by how hard he's listening to her.

It makes sense to him: that's why she wrote her letters instead of ever confronting him or Lucas or McClaren or her older sister's tool of an ex (he still really doesn't know what either Covey sister saw in that guy). Letters are one-sided. She just gets to pour out her heart without having to consider the other person's response.

His next question surprises him. "What about right now?"

She's talking all about how love scares her, but she's never seemed afraid to be with him. Not once in the month and a half that they've been doing this. Maybe…

But she just looks confused, "Right now? Well, I don't like you like that, so…"

He laughs it off, making some arrogant comment that makes her scoff and call him full of himself, but he can't help but feel a stab of hurt somewhere in his chest at her words.

xxx

The next morning, Peter makes breakfast for all of us. He gets up early to do it and is super proud of himself when he manages to get the pancakes right: not too thin but not thick either, golden brown on top, gooey chocolate chips scattered throughout instead of clustered at the center.

"When did you turn into a Master Chef?" Owen grumbles, but helps himself to three pancakes. "You couldn't cook for shit when you lived at home."

We all laugh, and Peter shoots him a glare before winking at me. "Yeah, well Lara Jean has been giving me listens. We have a lot of fun in the kitchen." He makes his voice sound as suggestive as possible as he says this and Owen and Kitty both let out disgusted groans. I push his shoulder, hard.

The worst part is that he's not entirely lying.

xxx

It's the summer before senior year and he and Lara Jean are stretched out on the couch watching a movie when Kitty comes in, looking near tears. Both of them jump up instantly, alarmed, and he quickly examines her for any obvious physical injuries. "I'm not hurt," she says, but her voice is all wobbly and she is looking closer to crying with every second that passes.

She looks at Lara Jean, not him, and he knows that whatever this is, it's for sisters only. He moves to grab his phone to leave, but Kitty waves him away. "You can wait in the kitchen," she says, and Lara Jean gives him an encouraging smile.

He spends fifteen terse minutes trying to distract himself by scrolling through social media. His ears strain to hear through the door, but they're speaking too low to overhear. Finally, he hears Lara Jean call out, "You can come in now!"

He shoves open the door and swaggers back in, hoping he appears confident on the outside - even though he's actually really worried about the kid. He can't imagine what would reduce Katherine Song Covey to tears.

The sisters are lying on the couch in a position similar to how he and Lara Jean were sitting before. Only this time Lara Jean is the big spoon, and Kitty is stretched out with her head resting on her sister's arm. They go back to watching the movie, but ever so often, Kitty lets out a tiny sniffle. Lara Jean always just strokes her hair in response, soothing her gently. He finds himself looking away from the movie and at her more and more.

When the credits are rolling, Kitty says, "Shanae says I'm not her best friend anymore. Sophie is." Her voice is stuffy, and she isn't looking at him.

He's surprised at the genuine wave of indignation he feels on her part. He almost wants to confront this Shanae. Kitty is the greatest. Who wouldn't want to be her best friend?

"It's her loss," he says gruffly, wishing he could ruffle her hair or squeeze her shoulder. He's much better with physical comfort than verbal. "She'll come around and realize how special you are, don't worry."

Lara Jean glances up at him then, and he knows from the love shining in her eyes that he's said the exact right thing.

They stare at each other over Kitty's head, Lara Jean's hand tangled in her sister's hair, both of them smiling softly, and he thinks that he wants to marry her someday.

xxx

Around six p.m., I get a text from Peter, who went with Owen and Kitty to see the Empire State Building today. I don't know if he's just suddenly really into this tourist stuff or it's actually a cover for some elaborate prank they're planning to pull on me.

The message says:

**Kitty needs you**.

Instantly, I'm on my feet. It's an unspoken rule for us Song sisters: when one needs the others, you drop everything and run. I'm in such a hurry to get there, I don't even realize that I end up with two different pair of shoes on each foot until I'm on the subway. White converse on the left, red on the right.

Oh well, it's New York City. I doubt anyone will care.

When I finally get there, I'm almost too anxious to wait in the line. I keep stretching up on my tiptoes to check how long it is, and the couple in front of me is getting irritated. I don't care, though. My sister needs me.

Peter doesn't respond to the million texts I send, further increasing my panic. There are no ambulances or police cars, so I guess it can't be life-threatening, but I know from experience that sometimes emotional pain can be just as bad. Dear God, please don't let her boyfriend have broken up with her or something.

Finally, finally, it's my turn to buy a ticket. I'm so curt with the guy behind the booth that I can practically feel Daddy frowning at my lack of manners behind me. But I'm sure he'd understand.

I don't even notice how high up we are when I get off the elevator, or that it's gotten significantly chillier since I left the apartment and I'm only wearing a thin tank top. I look all over, but I don't see Peter or Kitty. Just when I'm about to text him again, a security guard taps me on the arm. "Excuse me, is your name Lara Jean?"

I nod, surprised. Looking like he's trying to stifle a smile, he hands me a cream envelope with my name on it.

"Sir, what is this- " I start to ask, but he disappears quickly. Terribly confused, I open it and begin to read:

**Dear Lara Jean, **

**Exactly seven years, eight months, and three days ago, I got a letter. **

**In the prettiest handwriting I'd ever seen, my name was written on top. When I read it, I was offended and flattered at the same time. No one had ever given me something like that, Covey. But you also thought I had an STD. **

**I never thought that that letter would change the course of my entire life, but it did, Lara Jean. It brought me back to you, which I've come to realize is the place where I belong most. **

**I knew I liked you for the moment I first saw you. You don't have to believe it, but it's true. Before, I was a stupid twelve-year-old kid who thought girls were the worst. But then I met you and suddenly all I wanted was to smell your hair and listen to you talk all day. It sounded less creepy inside my head, but oh well. **

**Back then, it wasn't our time yet. We drifted apart. But then the universe threw us back together again and I knew nothing would ever be the same. **

**You weren't my first girlfriend, Lara Jean, but even when we were just pretending, you were the most important. You made me open up about my dad in a way that I had never done before. You made me ambush poor donut store employees right when they opened to buy you your favorite kind before school. You made me want to forget all about outside appearances - even though I'd cared so much about them in the past – and just be with you. You made me want to be better, Lara Jean, and today, because of you, I think I am. **

**It's no secret that you drive me crazy, Covey. But it's also true that you make me laugh and smile and feel like my heart is going to burst out of my chest every time you look at me. Being with you has been the greatest journey of my life, and one that I want to continue forever (P.S: Margot helped me with that line, even though it's true. Don't be mad that she didn't tell you. I wanted this to be a surprise). **

**I'm definitely getting the better end of the bargain, but, here goes nothing. **

And that's it. Tears flowing down my cheeks, I flip it over, looking for the rest of the words. But there's nothing. I feel a tap on my shoulder, and slowly, I turn around.

Peter is standing on one knee, holding a ring in his hand. He's giving me that huge, nose-crinkling smile that I love so much, his eyes full of emotion.

"Yes," I say through my tears, and he rolls his eyes.

"_Covey_. Let me ask first."

"Okay," I say, then "Yes."

He groans, but he's smiling so wide. Finally, he asks: "Lara Jean Song Covey, will you marry me?"

"Yes," I say, and this time, he gets to his feet, slides the ring on my finger, and kisses me hard, swinging me around as everyone around us claps and cheers.

Kitty and Owen get the whole thing on video. I'm glad. I never want to forget that moment for as long as I live.

**Next up: the wedding **

**Reviews keep me going :) Also, what was your favorite chapter so far? I think I liked writing the one where they broke up the best, because I'm trash for angst with a happy ending. **


	10. Insecurities

**So, I decided to throw in a wedding planning chapter before we see them officially tie the knot. We don't get to see Lucas in this chapter like I promised because I totally wasn't planning to write this, sorry!**

**Warning: Heavy angst ahead. Don't kill me please, I don't even know where this came from. I was planning on writing wedding planning fluff, but then my brain did this instead. **

**December 2024 **

The first wedding planning session commences the day after Christmas. After some deliberation, we – meaning me, Kitty, Margot, and Trina – voted to allow Peter to partake as well. He is, after all, the groom-to-be. He's clearly very honored to be included, making a point to sit up straight and listen to every word.

I'm a little more lax about the situation, sitting with my knee crossed over Peter's and my head leaning gently against his shoulder. I can tell he's torn between moving away to impress Margot with how serious he is about this and pulling me closer so that I'm fully draped over his lap. Even after all these years, he's so eager for Margot's approval because he knows how much my big sister means to me. It just makes me love him even more.

"First order of business," Kitty draws up a notepad, reminding me a little bit of myself. "Picking the wedding party."

Since she's the one responsible for getting us together, we've named Kitty head of all the wedding planning business. With both of us in school, Peter and I can't possibly plan such a major event. Of course I'm a little crushed that I can't obsessively organize every detail of my wedding, but no one will do a better job - or knows us better - than Kitty. So far, she's taking the job very seriously.

This one is easy. "I'd love for all three of you to be bridesmaids. Chris and Harper too." I've decided against having a maid of honor because I can't possibly pick between all of them.

Margot and Kitty beam at me, and Trina presses her hand to her chest, looking a little teary. "I'd be honored, Lara Jean." She's been married to Daddy for six years now, but sometimes I think she still has trouble fully grasping how much she means to all of us.

Kitty makes a little note before turning to Peter. "Have you made your decision yet?" she asks this in a clinical, business-like tone that's totally unlike her. I can see Peter struggling to repress a smile.

"Owen is going to be my best man. Gabe, Darrell, my college roommate, and one of my lacrosse teammates from UVA are going to be my groomsmen." Peter and I have discussed this already, matching the number of bridesmaids to groomsmen to ensure everyone has someone to walk them down the aisle.

My little sister nods at this information, scribbling all of it down before turning to her the next item on her list: the venue.

In the seven months we've been engaged, Peter and I have visited four possible venues here in Virginia. Our favorite by far has been a country club only twenty minutes away from here. We'd get married in the adjoining garden and then move indoors for the reception. It's a little bit of a dream come true; when I pictured my wedding in my head as a little girl, it was always outside during the spring with dahlias in full bloom.

We've set the date for May 14th, the day before my twenty-fifth birthday. It's a special date in the history of me and Peter: seven years ago, it was when our prom took place. Prom was the night I discovered the depth of my high-school love for Peter, sometime amidst jumping up and down to Taylor Swift and blowing out the candles at my impromptu surprise birthday party at the diner. Of course, since then, my love for Peter has only grown, shifting into something deeper and more adult.

Now, he squeezes my knee before saying, "It's not a definitive yes yet, but we're both pretty into the country club." Trina squeals, excitedly telling us how she always wanted to get married there. Apparently, it was on the list of venues for her first wedding but got scraped because of budget issues. I exchange a slightly worried look with Peter. We both already feel bad enough about Daddy paying for the wedding – he insisted, getting all misty-eyed over how the first of his girls was walking down the aisle – and the last thing we want to do is pile onto the cost.

"Oh, no," Trina says, catching the glance between us, "No backing out now. You're getting married there. I'll make sure of it."

I feel a surge of love of my stepmother. As much as it breaks my heart that Mommy isn't here to see any of this, I'm incredibly happy to have Trina with us.

It takes us the better part of the afternoon to get through each item on Kitty's list. Cake: three-tiers with vanilla buttercream frosting, a flowery design to go along with the outdoor theme, and, of course, the traditional bride and groom figurines on top. I'm a little apprehensive about letting someone else bake the cake for _my _wedding, but between school and all the other wedding stuff I'll be stressing about at that point, I won't have time to breathe, let alone bake.

First dance song: Al Green's "Let's Stay Together." Peter smiles gently at me as Kitty jots it down, leaning into my ear and singing softly, "Oh baby, let's stay together." My heart soars: I've always loved his clear, strong voice and this song is yet another important piece of our shared history.

We decide on some other stuff too, like the flowers for my bouquet (classic white roses) and the color of the invitations (cream with pale gold design and black cursive lettering) and the final alterations to the guest list. The last one gives me a bit of a pause, and I'm reminded of the one last thing Peter still has to do before we leave Virginia.

Go see his father.

xxx

On the second to last day of 2024, I go shopping with my sisters. We hit the mall floor running, quickly making our way to the first of the two bridal shops located within the massive complex. I've already fallen in love with a dress I saw back in New York, but we're still on the hunt for bridesmaid's dresses. I'm not trying to be one of those Bridezillas who forces her friends to wear an atrocious gown of her choosing: my sisters have total authority over what they will be wearing to my wedding.

Margot and Kitty grab four dresses each for the other to try on and head to the dressing rooms. I plop down on one of the couches, pulling out my phone. Peter is meeting his father right now, and I can't help but feel anxious. They haven't spoken since the man missed our graduation six-and-a-half years ago – failing to show up for his son for the umpteenth time – but Mrs. Kavinsky urged Peter to reach out to his dad before the wedding, saying he'd regret it for the rest of his life if he didn't.

I agreed with her, which I think surprised her a bit. She smiled at me all soft before patting my hand and murmuring thank you. Honestly, it's still a bit jarring whenever she's nice to me. But we've both put an honest effort towards mending any rifts between us and our relationship has drastically improved. I was a tad worried that she wouldn't give her blessing for the wedding, but she was thrilled when we gave her the news.

She did make me promise one thing, though. Taking my hands in hers at the small engagement party she threw for us, she said, "Swear to me that, as long as you're alive, my son will never be without love."

Easiest thing I've ever promised.

Peter hasn't texted me, which I take as a sign that everything is going well. Breathing a sigh of relief, I turn back to the dressing rooms just as my sisters exit. Immediately, I burst out laughing. Margot is wearing a hot pink taffeta dress that swallows her whole – most assuredly a pick of Kitty's.

"Oh, shut up," she grumbles, but she's smiling too.

xxx

It's eleven p.m. but I still haven't heard from Peter. I feel almost sick with nerves because Peter's father brings out this strange side of him that I don't see too often and aren't entirely sure that I like. I've texted Owen, but he hasn't heard from him either. Finally, my phone starts to buzz and when I glance at the screen, Peter is calling.

Relieved, I sit up in bed and quickly slide my finger to answer the call. Kitty's room is right next door, so I lift it the phone to my ear instead of leaving it on speaker. I quickly have to pull it away, though, because instead of Peter's familiar voice, I hear the sound of blaring music and people laughing and talking.

Confused, I bring the phone back to my ear. "Peter?"

"Hey, Covey," he says, his voice too loud, too sloppy. Is he…drunk?

"Where are you?"

"At Gabe's house," he slurs, and I hear the sound of someone clapping him on the back and shouting hello. He mutters a greeting, before continuing, "A bunch of us from high school are around, so he's throwing a thing."

"You didn't mention it to me." I can't help the hurt that creeps into my voice and hope that he can't hear it as well.

"I wasn't planning on going," he sounds distracted and I hear a girl's voice behind him, "But after I went to see my Dad…"

Oh no. I screw my eyes shut. "Was it that bad?"

Suddenly, his voice is sharp in my ear, tinged with anger. "Yeah, _Lara Jean_, it was. Just like I kept saying it was going to be, but you and Mom wouldn't listen. Did you know he had another kid and didn't even tell me? I have a little sister who didn't even know I existed until today."

Tears spring to my eyes, both because of the furious tone he's using – the one I've almost never heard directed at me before – and his words. Poor Peter. Both of us had lost a parent, but mine was to death. She couldn't come back. Peter's dad had willingly walked out on his life and started a new one without telling him, robbing Peter of not only a father but also any potential relationships with his new kids – who by all biological rights – were his siblings.

I can't imagine how much that must hurt.

Just as I'm opening my mouth to tell him that, he scoffs. "Don't try and make me talk about my feelings right now, Lara Jean. Not when it's your fault that this happened in the first place."

I almost can't believe the words coming out of his mouth. He sounds so _angry_. I never thought that Peter would ever, in his life, speak to me like this. Especially not after everything we've been through together.

"God," I hear the frustration in his voice, "You just can't keep yourself out of this, can you? You're always encouraging me to reach out to my dad, even when I say no. You don't give a shit about what I want. You're so naïve, Lara Jean. You think that just because you have such a happy family, everyone can. You have no idea that the real world's not all kumbaya and rainbows and sunshine. Grow up." He sounds so dismissive, so contemptuous – like I'm just this silly little girl who doesn't understand anything.

Does he really think that about me?

Without responding, I hang up the phone. Rolling back onto my bed, I drop my phone onto the covers and start to cry. Just yesterday, Peter and I handed in the deposit for the country club where, in just a few short months, we're supposed to get _married_.

Now, it's all falling apart.

xxx

I thought I would stay holed up in my bedroom for the rest of tonight, but Kitty and Margot had other ideas. After they came and found me crying into my pillow, they made me tell them everything. I wanted to wallow more, but Margot gripped my shoulders tight and said, "No. You're not going to spend tonight crying yourself to sleep over this. It was just an argument, Lara Jean. Go get your man."

Which brings to where I am now: standing in front of Gabe Rivera's house, wearing just a jean jacket over my sleep sweatpants and a tank top, with high school memories – the bad, the good, and the ugly – closing in around me.

I stand in front of the huge double doors leading into the main floor of the house. This is the spot where, a little over eight years ago, Peter pulled my hair out of my scrunchie and told me I looked pretty for the first time. He's said it a million times since, but the first time is always the most special. I've never gotten that strange pressure in my chest, that flush of pleasure on my cheeks again.

Taking a deep breath, I enter the party. Immediately, I'm surrounded by a crowd of drunken people and pulsing music. A lot of my old classmates from high school are here – some looking exactly the same, others not so much. The one commonality between each face I pass is the way they're looking at me: with some surprise, a bit of contempt, a little amusement, and a whole lot of 'what the hell is she doing here?' My face burns. The only reason anyone knew who I was in high school was because I was dating Peter, king of the cafeteria crowd. No one probably expected us to stay together, or to see me again.

I don't care, though. Even if I haven't felt this uncomfortable in my own skin since I started dating Peter for real. I'm a girl on a mission, and I don't have time for distractions. Stretching as tall as my tiptoes will let me, I survey the room.

I miss him at first. Or maybe I don't, but my brain reflexively tries to delay the inevitable. Prevent the shattering of my heart as I spot him on the couch with none of than Genevieve draped over him, her hand playing with the hair at the base of his neck.

She sees me before he does. She's tossing her hair back when our gazes lock. She lifts her shoulder at me almost triumphantly, shaking her pretty head as she gives me a gleeful smile. The implication is clear: _I have him back now_.

And that's when I realize that people never really change.

It's been years since we've seen her last, and even longer since there was anything between her and Peter, but here she is. Taking him back – like he's rightfully hers – knowing how much it destroys me. Enjoying the pain it causes.

Genevieve Smoak has hated me since the moment I kissed Peter in John's basement in the seventh grade and she always will. I was stupid to think that time would change that. Maybe Peter is right: I need to grow up.

But, really, I'm no better than her. I've been away from home all these years thinking that I was somehow this more worldly, more confident version of the old Lara Jean. But I'm the same naïve, insecure girl I was always those years ago.

Because, right now – even with his ring on my finger, all his belongings in our apartment, and his perpetual residence at the center of my heart – I can't help but think that he was never really mine at all.

xxx

I watch it happen in a trance.

It's like when you pass by a car crash and you know it's awful, but you can't stop looking for some reason.

I stare blankly at the couch as Genevieve leans forward and presses her mouth to Peter's. I don't wait to see his reaction, or even if he kisses back. It happened, and I saw, and now I don't think I can ever unsee it again.

As I turn away, I lock eyes with someone leaning against the pillar, holding a drink. It's Emily Nussbaum, Genevieve's best friend. She's not looking at me with disdain or gratification, instead there's something close to pity in her eyes.

"Come on. You're Lara Jean. He's Peter. How did you think this was going to turn out?"

xxx

This was the moment I realized Genevieve and I were over for good:

_I make Daddy drive me over to Genevieve's house when he comes home from work. I say it's because it's too hot outside, but really, I'm not that comfortable riding my bike long distances yet. _

_When I get there, I hope out of the car immediately, slamming the door behind me. "Thanks, Daddy!" I call out and he rolls down the window to wave before driving off. He's taking seven-year-old Kitty to the town carnival. _

_I walk over to the door and knock loudly. The Smoak house is huge and white, with black shutters on the windows. I've always secretly wanted to live here. It just looks so fancy but old at the same time, like it has all kinds of enchanting history. It's not like our house, which was built a few years before we moved in. This place was probably around back during the Civil War. _

_Gen's mother, Wendy, answers after a few minutes. She smiles down at me, but there is something forced about it. "Is Gen around?" I ask hopefully. When I'd texted her this morning to ask if she wanted to go to the mall to buy new outfits for our first day of high school, she'd said her mom was making her stay home all day and clean her room. _

_"__Um," Wendy shifts from foot to foot, glancing back inside the house nervously, before looking back down at me. "Give me a moment please, Lara Jean." _

_That's weird. Wouldn't Gen's mom know if she were home? Especially since she's the one making her stay here all day to fix her room. _

_I hear hushed voices from inside before Wendy returns. Her smile is decidedly false this time as she says, "I'm sorry, Lara Jean. Genevieve isn't feeling well right now. Why don't you give her a call later?" _

_But it's too late. I've already seen past her into the living room, where Genevieve is curled on the couch, wearing a short skirt and a tank top that shows off her tan and her toned arms. Peter Kavinsky is by her side, her knees touching his legs. Other kids from school sit around them: Emily from down the block, some boys who play JV lacrosse with Peter, and Trevor Pike, all talking and laughing loudly. _

_Gen glances over then, and I know she sees me. There are tears in my eyes. _

_She lied. _

_As I stand there, frozen, she looks away. _

_Like I'm nothing. _

The battle lines were drawn in that moment. Gen and Peter on one side, me on the other. Things like that never change. I should have known.

It's been written from the beginning of time: boys like Peter Kavinsky don't end up with girls like Lara Jean Song-Covey. They belong with the Gens of the world. Until this moment, I hadn't let myself believe it.

Maybe, all these years, Peter and I never really stopped playing pretend.

xxx

I'm so shattered from the events of the night that I barely even react when the door to the laundry room I'd been seeking refuge in flies open with a loud bang against the wall. Suddenly, Peter is standing in the doorway.

"I didn't kiss her back," he says and then rushes forward. His hands are on my shoulders, his grip too tight because he's nervous, "Lara Jean. _I didn't kiss her back_."

I don't even care about the kiss. I care about how, when he was upset about his dad, he yelled at me and came to here, to her. I care about how it's all becoming clear to me now that she'll never truly leave his heart and it's not even because of her really, but because of _what _she is. Perfect, pretty, popular. Just like Peter. It's the natural order of the universe for them to be together. I'm a no one. Peter and I being together was some kind of cosmic fuck up (I can't believe I just cursed, even in my own head) and now the world is righting itself once more.

Peter's hand slide from my shoulders as he takes in the blank expression on my face. I think he's realized that this is about something more than his father and the fight and the kiss. I can see the color drain from his cheeks, fear filling his eyes.

"I'm not enough."

Peter stares at me blankly the first time I say it. "What?" he asks.

"I'm not enough for you, Peter. I never have been. Today, when you were upset, you came here instead of to me. And that's not even the worst part. The worst part is how everyone here is looking at me. Like I'm a joke and they can't believe I'm with someone like you. God, that's probably how everyone looks at us. I've just been too caught up in my dreamland to see it."

There are tears streaming down my cheeks. "You're right, Peter. I don't understand the real world. If I did, I would have realized a long time ago that you belong with someone a lot more like you. Not someone who didn't have any friends the first two years of high school. Not someone who wrote love letters instead of having boyfriends. Someone who is beautiful and always knows the right way to dress and the right things to say. Someone who doesn't live inside her own head. Someone who everybody loves, just like you. Someone who isn't me." I sniffle, "It's the natural order of the universe."

For a moment, Peter just stares at me. And then, before I can react, he pulls me against him. My head is smashed against his chest, my ear against his heart. I can hear it beating.

"Covey, you're such an idiot."

Pulling away, I stare up at him in shock. He doesn't back down though, just meets my eyes with a steely resolve. "Have you even met yourself, Lara Jean? You're the smartest, kindest, prettiest, most wonderful person I know. You are absolutely enough for me – and a thousand times more."

I shake my head, stepping back from him. "That's not what you said on the phone."

"I was drunk and pissed at my dad on the phone! I took out my anger on you and you didn't deserve that. Coming here in the first place was unbelievably stupid. I should have moved away as soon as Genevieve sat down, but I was still mad, so I let her flirt with me. I was so horrified when she kissed me. I'm so sorry, Covey."

Searching my eyes, I know he can see the doubt within them in spite of his words. He might have been drunk and emotional, but he still said what he did. He still feels that way about me.

Pulling me back to him, he starts to speak again, his voice full of emotion. "Okay fine, maybe I do think you're too much of a dreamer. But, Lara Jean, that's one of the thousand reasons that I love you. I love that you always see the good in people. I love that you're not jaded or cynical. Seeing the faith that you have in the world makes me want to have more. I didn't mean it when I said you should grow up – I was just trying to hurt you. I never want you to change that part of yourself. I never want you to change _any _part of yourself, Lara Jean, because I am hopelessly in love with who you are."

I can't help it: my heart goes all melty inside as I listen to his words. Even the most convoluted, insecurity-ridden part of my brain can't find a way to ruin this moment: there is no denying the absolute certainty with which Peter speaks these words, or the crushing kiss he gives me after them.

Pulling back, he rests his forehead against mine.

"_Fuck _the universe, Covey. You and me belong together."

xxx

Two days later, on the flight back to New York, I stare out the window as I think about the events of the trip. In a way, I'm kind of glad all of it happened.

The last time Peter and I broke up, it was because he didn't believe in himself. He thought that he didn't deserve me, that I would leave him for something better. This time, it was my turn.

I think insecurities are an inescapable part of every relationship. No matter how many years you've been with them or how much you love you them (and know they love you), at some point, you'll inevitably question your worth in the relationship.

It could be as simple as walking down the street with your partner and thinking how plain you look next to them. Or – like me - you could spin out and have some misguided, metaphysical revelation about how the universe doesn't want the two of you to be together.

Either way, it's natural to second-guess yourself.

High school will always represent the pinnacle of my anxieties and doubts about my self-worth. I used to feel like I wasn't good enough for Peter all the time when we were together back then. I just never told him.

Relieving it all – and finally admitting to him the things I was feeling – actually helped me to move past my insecurities in a way I never have before.

Towards Peter, and the rest of our lives together.

**That was a rough one to write. I know that Peter being drunk and angry about this dad doesn't give him an excuse to be an ass, flirt w/Gen, or let Gen kiss him, so sorry if that seems OOC. I feel like he is really sensitive about his dad though and there was a point of conflict in the third book about LJ pushing Peter to reconnect with him. And Peter definitely makes some questionable decisions when Gen is involved. Also, we saw everything through LJ's POV, so we missed some things: Peter and Gen weren't talking for very long, he didn't respond to her advances, and he pushed her away after she kissed him and went after Lara Jean. **

**Next up: the wedding (unless I get other inspiration) **

**I decided I couldn't change Gen's personality because she had no character growth in the books - even in the third one, over a year after she and Peter broke up, she's a bitch to LJ. **

**I love writing happy Peter and Lara Jean, but relationships aren't perfect and I want to reflect that in this story. Thanks for the reviews! :) **


	11. Tests

**Hi, I know this is super late compared to all my other updates, but here's chapter 11! It's not the wedding, like I thought it would be, because a lot of you wanted to see Peter's perspective on the events of last chapter and how the conflict created at the party would affect their relationship moving forward. To the reviewer JF, I really liked your ideas and incorporated them, so thank you! Anyway, this chapter is entirely in Peter's perspective (and in third person) so it was tough to write. Hopefully it turned out okay. Again, sorry for the delay and thanks to everyone who reviewed! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, Jenny Han does. **

**December 2024**

Peter doesn't know how he ended up here: sitting on Gabe Rivera's couch with a Red Solo cup filled with what he thinks is beer resting on the table in front of him and a Post Malone song blaring loudly in the background. Twelve hours ago, his plans for tonight had involved taking Lara Jean and Kitty out for one last meal at the diner before packing everything up for the trip home in two days. Maybe he would have tried to persuade Lara Jean into baking him some chocolate chip cookies or watched a movie with Kitty.

But that had all changed after one conversation with his father.

Just the thought of the man who had abandoned him eleven years ago has him reaching for his cup. The beer is disgustingly warm, and he swallows hard afterwards, willing away the aftertaste. He regrets the decision immediately, as he needs to be sober enough to drive back to the Covey house later and he's already had a few of the shots Gabe and Darrell shoved his way after he walked into the party. Another stupid mistake to add to his growing list of blunders tonight.

Currently occupying the top position is his decision to go see his father tonight to begin with. Over the course of the last ten years, his feelings for his father have ranged from anger to hurt to disappointment to anger once more as the cycle reset. He doesn't know why he expected tonight to be different. And, yet, he had. When he'd climbed the steps up to the house, he'd felt a strange mixture of nerves and excitement in his stomach, the kind he's only felt right before the biggest moments of his life.

Right before he kissed Lara Jean for the second _real _time in that hot tub. The moment he opened the email telling him he'd gotten into law school. As he climbed across the stage at his college graduation. When he asked Lara Jean to marry him.

The fact that his stomach was doing somersaults had evidenced what he's been denying to both his mother and Lara Jean for years: that his father means more to him than he lets on. That he cares what his dad thinks about him, if he ever wonders about Peter, if he still loves him.

Of course caring about something means that, when it goes wrong, the hurt is always about a thousand times worse. Sure enough, when his father had pushed the quiet little girl crouching near his legs – with eyes that looked eerily similar to Peter's – towards him and said, "This is my daughter," a burning sensation had started to spread through his chest. His father had had a new child, his first daughter, Peter's _sister_, and he hadn't bother to even mention it to his oldest son. Not one fucking word.

That hurt Peter may have been able to swallow. But his father's reaction to the news he was getting married felt like it was permanently scorched inside his brain.

"Dad, I'm getting married," he'd said quietly, his hands balled into first where they were shoved into his pockets.

He doesn't know what he'd expected – pride, happiness, disappointment at missing out on such a big chapter of his son's life? It certainly hadn't been for his dad to fucking _laugh_.

"Oh, Peter," his father had said sympathetically, some traces of amusement still swimming in his eyes, "You and me, we're not cut out for marriage. You'll realize that one day, probably after you've been married for 10 years with 2.2 kids and suddenly you can't recognize your life anymore."

Peter had realized a couple of things in that moment.

1\. His father was an asshole

2\. His father was a _drunk _asshole (interesting considering he's supposedly been sober ever since he married Kristy)

3\. He needed to get the hell out of there before he punched his father in the face

And so, he'd left, turning abruptly on his heel and slamming the screen door shut behind him. Maybe the worst part? His father hadn't even bothered to call out after him.

He'd walked across the perfectly manicured lawn and into his car, where he'd sat for a few moments, stewing. More lights had turned on across the house, his younger brothers probably alerted by the noise. He'd been about to hightail it out of there before they came out when his phone had buzzed with a text from Gabe:

**Get your ass over here, Kavinsky. **

The text had been followed by a poorly shot video of several of his high school classmates scattered throughout the sprawling ground floor of Gabe's house, drinking from plastic cups and playing beer pong as 2010 pop music pulsed through the room.

To be honest, nothing about the scene had attracted him. But, at the moment, it had seemed a million times better than going home and facing Lara Jean, who'd probably still be up and waiting with shining eyes for him to surely unload a magical tale of his reconciliation with his father.

Most of the time, he loves the world Lara Jean lives in and her unwaveringly romantic take on the universe. Like just last weekend when they'd been walking around a street corner in New York on their way home and they'd passed a homeless man leaning over a box with just a few pitiful dimes and nickels tossed in. He'd been painfully thin but also very clearly strung out, with glazed over eyes and an almost entirely blank expression across his dirtied face. Despite his appearance, Lara Jean had stopped to toss a ten-dollar bill into the cup. _Don't you know he's just going to use the money to buy more drugs? _Peter had wanted to ask, but the words had died on the tip of his tongue as Lara Jean had launched into a dreamy tirade about how, if just a little more people went out of their way to help him, the man could one day turn his life around and get off the streets.

Lara Jean lives in a world full of unicorns and rainbows and all good things. She is always, always searching for that happy ending and he just _couldn't _disappoint her tonight.

Especially not with his father's words ringing in his ears: _we aren't cut out for marriage_.

Was it true? Would he marry Lara Jean just to ruin her life and leave her broken – like his father did to his mom all those years ago?

He hadn't been able to bear finishing that thought.

Instead, he'd driven over to Gabe's house – not even pondering sending a text to Lara Jean, because at that moment, he'd been trying very hard not to think about her at all.

So, amendment to that first thought: Peter does know how he ended up here. He just doesn't know how to move forward. He's still so angry, and to be honest, so scared. He doesn't know how to talk to Lara Jean about this (he knows she'll be reassuring, telling him he's nothing like his dad, but she hadn't been around those years before his dad left – and sometimes even right after – when old relatives and family friends would gasp over how grown up he'd gotten, touching his cheek and telling him, _"Oh Peter, you look just like your dad"_), or how to smile and go ahead with all this wedding planning when he has all this new crushing anxiety that he's going to break her heart one day.

This is why it's an exceptionally terrible moment to glance down at his phone and see that Lara Jean has called and texted several times. And, those drinks must be going to his head, because it's an even worse idea to call her back, but he does it anyway.

Sure enough, when she picks up, he hears all that hope and wonder and relief in her voice and he doesn't know why, but it fucking undoes him. And all that hurt and anger that should be directed at his father suddenly comes pouring out – and onto Lara Jean.

He's shaking when he hears her hang up the phone. The dial tone sounding in his ear, he quickly hangs up and calls back. No answer.

He calls again and again and even tries the landline once but hangs up when Margot answers because fuck no, he's not getting into this with the most terrifying member of the Covey family (and that includes Dr. Covey, whose daughter he's sleeping with, and Kitty, who once set him on fire during one of her lab experiments). And he can't even go over there right now because he's still not sober enough to drive and he can't call an Uber because he needs to get his car back somehow too.

He's still panicking over what to do when he smells rose perfume and a familiar frame slides onto the seat next to him. Without even looking up, he knows it's Genevieve now maneuvering herself to face him, crossing her tanned legs in a way that he knows she thinks is enticing to him.

He and Gen have kept in touch a bit since he moved to New York. She'd started working at a retail store in the mall after college and sometimes she'll shoot him a text if she runs into his mom there. He wishes her a Merry Christmas or a Happy New Year on the years he remembers. It's all very friendly, and Lara Jean is very aware of it. He'd thought that it meant that Gen had turned over a new leaf, that she was no longer the vindictive girl she'd been back in high school, that she was over trying to win him back when he's clearly very much in love with another woman.

But the hand currently playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and the way she leans forward to shove her breasts underneath his nose make it very clear that she hasn't changed one bit. Disgusted, he moves to push her hand off when he sees this _gleam _go through her eyes and then she's kissing him.

Instantly, he recoils, pushing her away. He can't believe what just happened. He can't believe he just kissed Gen. He can't believe he just kissed a woman other than Lara Jean for the first time in eight years.

He's ripped out of his panic when he hears a door slam shut loudly behind him. He whirls around to see Emily Nussbaum, Gen's best friend, staring at him with pity in her eyes as she shakes her head ruefully.

"You'd better go after your girl, Kavinsky."

He doesn't need to hear anymore before he's moving.

xxx

It turns out Lara Jean is a bigger idiot than he is because she thinks that _she's _the one who doesn't deserve _him_.

He reassures her of the opposite and just how incredible he finds her on a daily basis. Because, it's true. He does.

They kiss and make up.

Everything is fine.

Or so he thinks.

xxx

The moment they get back into their apartment in New York, Lara Jean declares that they need to go on a grocery run. She makes this announcement after surveying the contents of their fridge: which includes and _is _limited to: probably expired cottage cheese, two beers, a bag of spinach, and one meager chicken breast.

"Hey," Peter tells her with a lazy smirk, "We've got 3 out of the 5 food groups represented here. That's like, 60%."

She shoves him, "60% is failing, dummy."

But she's smiling even as she shakes her head and volunteers to tag along on the trip to the store even though it's technically his turn this weekend. When they first moved in together, they set up a system for this kind of stuff. And no, not like most couples who probably have a loose verbal agreement that they inevitably violate from time to time.

Lara Jean bought a huge wall calendar and a twelve pack of colored Expo markers. Blue is for taking out the garbage, red for doing the dishes (Lara Jean's minimum duration of time for dirty dishes in the sink is 36 hours, no exceptions), purple for grocery runs, and so on. For each day of the week, she writes one of their names in the designated color. Today is, for example, a Tuesday. This means that Lara Jean is on dishes and laundry, while Peter has to shop, take out the garbage, and vacuum the living room. He's just thankful toilet duty isn't until Sunday.

Usually, Lara Jean is hardcore about making sure they stick to the schedule. As in, the one time he forgot to do the dishes on his designated night, she punished him by taking very loud and very long showers – with the ceiling fan on in the bathroom because she doesn't do anything halfway – whenever she left for the hospital, which was usually around five in the morning and he still had two blissful hours left to sleep. It lasted for an entire week.

They chat about the trip as they make the quick walk to the grocery store, Lara Jean bundled up in one of his puffy winter coats because Kitty had spilled hot cocoa on hers. She looks so cute he kisses her in the middle of a sentence, pushing her up against the wall of an apartment building for as long as he can get away with before she's pushing away and saying "Peter!" in an admonished tone even though she's all flushed and her eyes are shining.

When they get into the store, she tears her list in two (she'd compiled it quickly in sparkly blue glitter pen as he searched for his extra coat for her) and hands him the bottom half. "I'll see you on the other side," she says very seriously before grabbing a cart and heading in the direction of the dairy products.

Twenty minutes later, Peter is actually wiping sweat from his forehead as he makes his way back to the checkout counters after grabbing the last item on Lara Jean's list – tampons. He's not one of those guys who's embarrassed to be buying that kind of stuff, even if his high school lacrosse teammates gave him shit the one time he picked up some pads for her during lunch when she got her period in the middle of the school day.

Lara Jean is already leaning against one of the displays near the front, examining her nails. When she sees him coming, she looks up and gives him a teasing smile, "I thought you'd never get here."

He makes a face at her before aggressively grabbing items out of his cart and placing them on the conveyor belt. The cashier looks alarmed and Lara Jean giggles slightly. But she links her arm through his as they grab their bags, and he feels all his mock-annoyance evaporate at the feeling of her leaning into his touch, humming softly to herself as they exit the store.

xxx

Let it be said that Peter Kavinsky, unbeknownst to Lara Jean when they first started fake dating, can, in fact, read. As a matter of fact, as a law student, he has to read hundreds of briefs a semester. He even reads the newspaper occasionally, although, if you really pressed him about it, he'd admit that this usually just involves skimming the stats in the sports section.

However, despite all the evidence supporting his aptitude in and appreciation of the activity, there is one type of reading that Peter does truly despise. And it's not even one that he partakes in himself.

Nothing disturbs him more greatly than when Lara Jean is thoroughly engrossed by a book.

Over the eight-year duration of their relationship, he's only witnessed this fascination twice.

Their sophomore year of college, it had been _Eleanor & Park_, which had actually come out several years prior, but she'd recently picked up on the recommendation of her roommate. He'd driven up to UNC to spend the weekend with her – as UVA didn't pick up for another week – only to find that she could scarcely lift her eyes from the book. He'd spent his afternoon playing handball with her wall as she poured over the chapters. Later, when they'd gone out for dinner, she'd slipped it into her purse. He'd caught her reading it in the bathroom.

The second time had been around a year ago, over the summer. The book in question: _All the Light We Cannot See _by Anthony Doerr. The only reason he knows the author is because Lara Jean had burst into loud, noisy tears in the middle of the night when she'd finally finished the book and had been too emotional to fill him in on why she was crying, so he'd had to google the ending.

Yeesh. This Doerr guy could give Shakespeare a run for his money in writing tragedies.

Anyway, Lara Jean had spent a good three days utterly consumed by the book. He'd gone so stir-crazy on the fourth day with virtually no acknowledgement from her that he'd volunteered to do their laundry. Only it turned out he'd grabbed the wrong batch of clothes out of the dryer at the laundromat.

"Do you really think I'd own this?" Lara Jean had said crossly, looking up at him for the first time in days as she'd flung a black G-string in his direction.

It's not that Peter isn't a great advocate of reading and all the potential intellectual advantages it offers. And their relationship has _certainly _benefited from those Chris-deigned "bodice rippers," if you know what he means.

It's just that Lara Jean's enchantment with a particular book is slightly different from the average person's. Someone else might occasionally stop reading to eat or sleep or spend time with their devoted and incredibly handsome boyfriend. But Lara Jean isn't one-of-a-kind for nothing.

So that's what brought him here: lying in bed next to Lara Jean staring at the ceiling, the room silent save for the occasional excited turning of a page.

He's already tried to strike up conversation twice. Both times ended after Lara Jean uttered her fourth "mm-hm" in as many minutes. He doesn't know how much longer he can stand it. It's 10 p.m., too early to sleep and too late to start a movie or an episode of his favorite and Lara Jean's newest Netflix obsession, Black Mirror. It's not half as fun to watch without her letting out the occasional gasp or burying her head in his shoulder when she can't bear to watch what's happening on screen, anyway.

Ugh. Peter lets his head flop back against the pillow. He'd actually take a reading from school over this, but since they've been off for the last week, he doesn't even have that. His only potential source of entertainment probably doesn't even realize he's in the same room as her at the moment.

Without thinking, Peter leans out and tickles the bottom of her foot. He doesn't know why he does it really – he's heard the saying about not poking the bear too many times to count – but just blames it on boredom. Or temporary insanity.

Sure enough, the look Lara Jean levels in his direction is enough to scare small children. Gulping, he reaches out and does it again. This time, she does let out a small laugh. Almost immediately, she clamps her hand over her mouth and glares at him again.

"Peter," she says through gritted teeth, "I'm trying to read here."

And then he does the unthinkable: he grabs the book out of her hands. She gapes at him for a moment before shrieking, "Peter!" As she lunges for it, he rolls over and onto his stomach, shoving it underneath. She attacks his back, wrapping her legs around his waist from behind as she tries to reach for the book. She gives a happy little gasp as her fingers close around the edges of it, and he has to stifle a smile before suddenly reaching behind him to flip her over onto his back. Her mouth makes this little "O" as she stares back at him, startled and winded, but then her gaze hardens as she stares at the book clutched in his right hand. The page she'd been reading is definitely lost now, and he feels a little bad, but not enough to, you know, return the book.

"Peter Kavinsky," she states in a low, menacing tone, "Give the book back. Or else."

He takes a moment to ponder what the 'or else' could mean. The mean shower trick again. Slipping Kitty some prime blackmail material that she'll surely never let him live down. Whoopie cushions, holes in his button-downs, shower dye or any of the other nefarious tricks Owen taught her the last time he was in town. No sex for a month. The last one gives him pause but he shrugs it off with a smug little smile, _nah, there's no way she could handle that one either_.

"You don't scare me, Covey," he says, smirking down at her.

"Oh, that's it," she says, but, just as she's about to make a grab for the book, his fingers drop to her stomach, tickling their way up her ribcage.

As he listens to the laughter of the girl he loves below him, the book long forgotten, Peter can't help but think: I'm home.

xxx

Reality returns with a bang the next morning when Lara Jean's alarm goes off at five. She's halfway through her third year of medical school, which means she's begun her medical rotations. Although she's planning on becoming an OB/GYN like her father, she's currently on an orthopedic rotation at Mount Sinai Hospital.

Unfortunately for Peter, this means that his fiancée slips out of bed before the sun is even up and often doesn't return until long after it has set. As with all students on rotations, Lara Jean gets a consecutive 24 hours off every week, but with Peter still in law school – even if it _is _3L – they have a serious shortage of time together.

To make matters worse, the first few weeks back after their trip to Virginia, Peter is troubled to find a new pattern emerging in their already too hectic for his liking lifestyles: every time Lara Jean comes home after he's already gone to bed, he'll wake up to find her asleep on the couch in the living room.

It's definitely not unlike Lara Jean to be concerned about messing up his own sleep schedule with her crazy hours, but they'd discussed it before and he'd told her in the strictest terms that not having her next to him in bed was much worse than being woken up for a few minutes as she changed and got into bed. And besides, they both knew he could sleep through an earthquake.

He can't shake the feeling that her new sleeping habits have something to do with what happened during their trip to Virginia.

What's worse is that sometimes Lara Jean doesn't even come home that late because of work. Rather, she goes out with friends after getting off to unwind and doesn't creep in until the early hours of the morning. He doesn't mind her having a social life, of course, but, like the couch, it's a new development for her to stay out so late – especially when he doesn't see so much of her already.

It's like she's trying to distance herself from him. And honestly, it fucking sucks.

He can't even talk to her about it because, on the surface, she's the same Lara Jean. On the rare occasions that they're both home in the morning, she'll drag him into the shower with her or make him help her try out this new crepe recipe that she found online. She'll spend the few empty afternoons they have together talking wedding planning with Kitty and Margot (the latter over FaceTime, of course). When they somehow manage to find a free evening to go out, she'll hold his hand when they're walking and tell her about his day over dinner and sing along at concerts or lean her head on his shoulder at the movies. Afterwards, they'll go back to their apartment and sometimes – okay, usually – have sex. And that'll be normal, too. Amazing, like it always is with her.

But then she'll roll away instead of cuddling close and go to sleep with her back turned and he'll think about how it's possible to miss someone even when they're right next to you.

He doesn't know how to say this out loud to her. He'd tried to confide in Owen once, but his brother had told him that it was probably just in his head. _I text Lara Jean every week_, Owen had said, _and she seems the same. It's probably nothing._

Then why doesn't it feel like that? Why does it feel like with every passing day, she's slipping farther and farther away?

Sometimes, Peter thinks he's going crazy.

Like tonight, when he feels this strange space between them even as she slips her hand into his – her ring cool when it brushes it against his palm – as they step into the bar. It's a rare night when they're both free, and they're meeting Lucas James and his boyfriend Cole for dinner.

Peter sees a tall guy standing near the front eye Lara Jean as they pass and instinctively moves closer, wrapping her arm around his waist. She always looks beautiful, but she's put in additional effort tonight with a tight black sweater dress, curled hair, and dangling earrings that catch his eye every time she moves her head. As she leans into his touch, he can't help but feel a stab of pride that he gets to walk alongside this pretty, smart, accomplished, incredible woman.

"Hey, Lara Jean!" Lucas waves them over from where he's sitting at a table near the back, his boyfriend occupying the seat next to him. Lara Jean actually introduced the two, as Cole attends medical school with her. They've been a couple for almost a year now, and she's made them promise to name their first-born child after her.

"Hi, guys!" Lara Jean kisses them both on the cheek before sliding into the seat across from Lucas. Peter does that weird hug/pound on the back thing that guys do with Lucas, and shoots Cole a friendly smile before taking his place next to her.

Dinner, like it always is with Lucas, is fun and light. Still, Peter finds himself drifting in and out of the conversation. He can't help it: his mind keeps returning to the way things have been with Lara Jean in the month since Gabe's stupid party back in December. He can't shake the feeling that he's losing her, and he's never been more terrified in his life.

"Hey, Kavinsky," Lucas nudges his arm, shaking him from his thoughts, "That girl is checking you out."

His head whips around quickly, and sure enough, there's a slim blonde sitting a few feet away from them making eyes at him as her friends giggle. His face flames, and he quickly spins back around to look at Lara Jean.

"She should take a hint," he grumbles, although his eyes are frantically checking hers for any suspicion or worry. Frighteningly, her face is unreadable. Usually, he can tell what Lara Jean is thinking in a heartbeat. "It's obvious I'm with you."

"Nah," Lara Jean says nonchalantly, "You're way out of my league. She probably doesn't think that someone like you would be with me."

And then, before he can respond, she's turning back to Lucas and Cole and striking up a new conversation about where the latter bought his shirt because it's to die for.

xxx

"Did you mean what you said?"

Lara Jean's halfway inside her closet, hanging up her coat. She turns back to him while taking her earrings out, and he thinks she's even more beautiful this way: heeled boots cast aside, one earring out, hair hanging in messy waves instead of careful curls, makeup almost completely worn off.

"What?"

"About me being out of your league. You know that's not true, Lara Jean."

"Isn't it?" she hums noncommittally, placing her earrings back in the jewelry box on her nightstand. "It's what the girl thought."

"Who cares about the stupid girl?" he says this louder than he intended, and she flinches. Breathing in sharply, he tries again: "I don't care what she thinks, Lara Jean. What I _know _is that I am mostly definitely not out of your league. I'm the one who lucked out when I somehow got you to fall for me."

Lara Jean's eyes soften, but there's shadows in them that he doesn't understand. There's all this weird fucking distance between them again and he just wants to reach across and pull her close.

When she doesn't say anything, he speaks up again. "And, just for the record, I would never have looked at that girl. I'm not interested in her. I'm not interested in anyone who isn't you."

Lara Jean's back is towards him now as she heads into the bathroom. "I don't know," she says, gazing back at him from the doorway, "She kind of looked like Gen, didn't she?"

And then she shuts the door behind her, leaving him standing there with what feels like a stone lodged in his throat.

xxx

Two days later, Peter has got a plan.

He decides to cut his last class of the day and head home early. Lara Jean has the day off, so she'll be around. He'll pick up her favorite soup and bread from the bakery she loves downtown and surprise her for lunch. And then, finally, he'll confront her about what she said the other night and the way she's been acting ever since they got home.

But, as soon as he steps in to the apartment, he realizes his plan is fucked.

Because there are two pairs of shoes – Italian loafers and black combat boots – lying on the doormat that definitely don't belong to either of them. And, as he walks further into the apartment, three different voices sound from the living room.

He's going to go in and say hello, alerting them to his presence. He really is. But then, he hears Lara Jean's voice.

"I don't know, I guess it's like when I had feelings for Josh Sanderson."

His heart stills. What the fuck?

"Your irrational fear that Peter is going to leave you for someone better is the same thing as your illicit crush on you sister's boyfriend? I may have been an English major before I switched to drama, but that simile is lost on me."

So, this is about what their fight back in Virginia and what she said the other night. He thought as much. His heartbeat picks up again, but he's still confused as hell about why she's talking about Sanderson.

"Ugh, Lucas. Not when you put it that way. It's kind of like this: I knew I had to put an end to my crush on Josh when he started dating Margot. So, I stuffed all my feelings into a letter and shut it away into that box. Adios, goodbye. But, even though I tried my hardest to forget, I couldn't stop the occasional feeling from cropping back up. Like when he got so excited talking about Lord of the Rings that he'd turn all red and start using his hands."

"I still have no idea what you saw in that guy, Lara Jean." He sees Chris shaking her head as she reaches for a tortilla chip out of the bowl sitting at the center of their little circle on the floor.

_Same, Chris,_ Peter thinks. _Same._

"That doesn't even matter anymore! What I'm trying to say is: you can't just take all your bad, forbidden thoughts and shove them into a box hoping they'll never come up again. Because no lid will ever be tight enough to hold them forever. I think my brain has been repressing what happened at the party with Gen and Peter. But, sometimes, the image of them kissing flashes in my head and I just, I can't get it out."

"Damn, Covey. That shit's messed up."

"Real helpful, Chris." Lucas tosses a chip in her direction.

"Hey, you're supposed to be the thoughtful, sensitive one."

"Stop stereotyping me!"

"I think you're both missing the point," Lara Jean draws her knees up to her chest, looking small.

Lucas sighs, turning to her, "Look, Lara Jean. I know that Peter loves you and would never look at another woman. Even Gen. Everyone who sees you two together knows it. I think you know it too, despite all your doubts. We just need a way to get you to move past what happened at that party."

An insightful look crosses Chris' face, "You know, I might have an idea…"

"Well, there's a first time for everything." Lucas smirks at Chris, who throws him a fake furious expression before turning to their friend, rubbing her arm comfortingly.

"LJ, you never got to confront Gen about what happened at that party. Maybe it's just what you need to finally get the idea of her and Peter out of your head. And besides," Chris sits up with an excited gleam in her eyes, "Someone needs to stand up to the bitch."

"I never thought I'd say this," Lucas says, earning another hard smack on the arm from Chris, "But Chris might be right. At the very least, you can stick it to Gen and that's always entertaining."

"Fine," Lara Jean says, although there's still doubt in her voice. "Hand me the phone. "

Peter's eyes widen. It had been painful for him to hear that, after everything that had happened, Lara Jean still doubts the depth of his devotion to her. But maybe Chris has a point. Maybe this can help repair what's been broken in their relationship since the party.

As Lara Jean presses the contact and hits speakerphone, settling the phone between the three of them, Peter leans closer to listen more closely. His breath catches as Gen answers, her nasal voice echoing through the room, "Hello?"

"It's Lara Jean Covey," his girlfriend sits up straighter, setting her chin high. Peter feels a spark of pride, even though Gen can't see. "I just wanted to say that I really don't appreciate you flirting with Peter and kissing him at that party last month."

Gen draws in a breath, clearly taken aback. But then she continues, her voice high and mocking. "I hate to break this to you, Lara Jean, but he was the one flirting with me. I was just responding."

Peter feels a wave of burning anger and is about to stand up to defend himself when Lara Jean interrupts.

"Actually, Gen, he wasn't. I may not have been there, but I know that Peter would never cheat on me. He loves me. He has for a long time. You need to accept that. Frankly, it's a little pathetic that you haven't already." She pauses, and Peter gapes at her, feeling himself fall a little bit more in love. "I really hope that, one day, you can change. But, until then, good-bye, Genevieve."

Lara Jean turns to Chris and Lucas with wide eyes, "I just called Genevieve pathetic."

"Damn straight, Covey," Chris hugs her tight, "I knew you had it in you."

"So did I." Peter stands up now, telling himself it's not creeping if he eavesdrops on a conversation taking place in his own apartment. They all gape at him, and Chris and Lucas both hastily stand up, whispering good-bye to Lara Jean before moving to go

Before Lucas leaves, he moves closer to Peter, murmuring, "Fix this, Kavinsky."

Chris is a little less gentle. "You hurt her, and I hurt you."

When they're both gone, he turns to Lara Jean. She's standing a few feet away, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Did you mean what you said on the phone? About knowing that I would never cheat on you?" He has to know.

Shyly, she meets his eyes. There are tears glistening in hers. "Yes, I did. I didn't know how much I believed it until I said it out loud to her. But Peter, I do know that you would never cheat on me. I've always known. My stupid insecurities about our relationship have been putting all these ideas in my head but I know, more than anything, that you'll always love me and never hurt me that way."

There's no shrinking violet here. Lara Jean is standing straight, all confidence and certainty. It makes all his fears melt away as too. Truthfully, he's spent the last few weeks afraid as well. Afraid that his father was right and that he's not cut out for marriage, after all. But now, standing here with this powerful, all-encompassing feeling inside his chest as he stares at Lara Jean, he knows that he's nothing like his father. His father had never loved his mother the way he loves this girl – in fact, he doesn't think anyone in the history of time has loved another person quite like loves Lara Jean - and that is reason enough to convince him that he'll never repeat his father's mistakes.

This was it, he thinks. This was the final test before they tied themselves together for the rest of their lives.

"We passed," he murmurs, and it's incomprehensible to someone who can't hear the thoughts inside his head, but he finds that Lara Jean is nodding along as she all but stumbles into him, her arms going around his neck.

"I love you," she says and then they're kissing, and he thinks that his heart has never been this full.

**Next up: DEFINITELY the wedding **

**I actually have some sad news: there are only about three more chapters of this story left. We'll actually end up with 14 chapters instead of the planned 15 because I had to cut something. I'm basically going to have no time for anything starting Wednesday so I'll try to wrap up this story before then. Thanks for reading and review please! :) **


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